


To Keep Moving Forward

by waterbird13



Series: This Time [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Discussions of sex, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Violence, non-graphic sex scenes, past Damien Moreau/Eliot Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when things are going pretty great for Eliot, Alec, and Parker, Damien Moreau comes back into their lives. Moreau is still convinced that at the very least a little piece of Eliot is still his, no matter how often Eliot says he's moved on and found better. Everyone knows that Damien Moreau is more than a little used to getting the last word in any discussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to "No Time Like the Present."  
> This fic contains: an established OT3, lots of discussion of past Eliot Spencer/Damien Moreau, the actual presence of Damien Moreau, violence, violence including (non-graphic) death, discussions of sex and sexuality, and non-explicit sex scenes. I think that's everything.  
> Super special thanks to my beta, hxntersammy, who once again did a fantastic job getting this fic into proper shape. Thank you!  
> That's everything. I hope you enjoy!

            Eliot wakes up when the pre-dawn still starts to creep into the apartment, smiling. He has Alec on one side, Parker on the other, both of them half-covering him. He doesn’t usually sleep in the middle because he gets up so much earlier than they do, but when he ends up there, he takes the hint. He’s theirs to cuddle and hold and his only job is to not move and let them use him as a pillow until they wake up.

            He strokes Parker’s hair and Alec’s exposed spine tenderly, listening to the little noises they make in sleep. Moments like this are meant to be treasured, so he closes his eyes, listening to them, feeling them breathe, absorbing their heat, taking it all in.

            He must have drifted a bit, because he comes to when Parker pokes him in the chest a few times. “I know you’re awake,” she says accusingly.

            He grins. “I’m up,” he says. “What’s up, darlin’?”

            Alec groans and Eliot chuckles, leaning down to kiss the top of his head in apology. “We’ll be quiet,” he promises softly, and Alec hums, half-awake but fighting it.

            Parker rolls her eyes but keeps her voice down. She kisses Eliot on the cheek, a fast smack of a kiss that leaves Eliot smiling and his skin tingling, then hops out of bed, moving towards the bathroom. Eliot knows this means she’s leaving him to do the dirty work of waking Alec up and getting him moving. Parker turns on the shower, and maybe that will work in Eliot’s favor, inspire Alec to get moving.

            He kisses his forehead again, a little more insistently this time, a harder press of lips, and Alec’s face scrunches up. Eliot gently rubs at his back, then pulls his mouth far enough away to say, “Parker’s already in the shower.”

            He lets Alec’s imagination sort out the rest, gives it a moment to filter through, then watches as his eyes open.

            “Then what’re we doin’ out here?” he asks, and Eliot grins.

            They both make it to the bathroom a moment later, steam just starting to curl up, but not yet so thick that it in any way obscures their view of Parker, naked and beautiful under the hot spray.

            She turns around and grins at them. “Took you long enough,” she says, and they follow her into the shower.

 

_Sometimes, Parker was like that, open and wanting and dragging her boys into crazy, creative, amazing sex. Sometimes she just wanted to watch, didn’t want to be touched or be a part of it at all, which was fine, really. Eliot never thought himself to be one to get off on being watched, but it was hard not to when it was Parker, looking all the world like she just stole them from a museum, like they were her biggest score yet when he and Alec moved against each other._

_Sometimes, she didn’t want to be a part of it at all. Usually she kissed them goodbye and told them to have fun and went off to do Parker things, alone, leaving them to entertain themselves, which they tended to manage just fine. And it was all fine, it was great. They all had their things and Parker sometimes wanting sex and sometimes not, of all the things between them, was a non-issue, not a big deal at all, something that could totally be handled just fine._

_The issue was when she didn’t talk about it. She would tell Alec, but not Eliot, and it confused the hell out of Eliot when he didn’t know what she wanted and something was clearly wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what._

_Alec had bridged the issue, of course he had, because Eliot found out that, as weird as others might see a three person relationship, it was the only way they worked. They all connected in weird little ways, bridging gaps together, making this work._

_Alec had explained that Parker didn’t always want it, and then they’d asked Parker why she hadn’t said anything, and her answer had broken Eliot’s heart a little bit._

_She had shrugged and said that she wasn’t sure if it would matter, because Eliot was new and everything was fragile and she didn’t want to break it and make him leave._

_Eliot had gathered himself best he could and explained that nothing could make him leave, and especially nothing as simple and non-problematic as her not wanting to have sex. She hadn’t slept with them for two weeks afterwards. At least part of the time was a test, Eliot was pretty sure, but he was almost positive they all passed, because afterwards, she seemed to be calmer around them. Something lifted between them, and settled into an easy sense of comfort._

_Sometimes, they didn’t have sex. And sometimes Parker dragged bother her boys into the shower and put them exactly where she wanted them, running the water long enough to test whether the hot water heater was really as limitless as Alec claimed._

 

            When they all get out of the shower, finish drying off and getting dressed, they move to the kitchen, just like every other morning. Alec sets up a laptop at the table and starts doing his thing. He says he’s searching for potential clients, and he very well may be, and he’s certainly found a couple potential cases over previous breakfasts. But he could also be playing World of Warcraft or searching the President’s email or emptying the bank accounts of dictators or any number of other things, for all they know.

            Parker sets the table, then enjoys a bowl of cereal. It’s become a habit for her to eat at least one bowl while waiting for Eliot to finish cooking. Eliot grumbles about how he feeds her enough, dammit, but the cereal is her thing and she likes it, and she never turns down his food, so it just becomes a thing.

            He plates bacon and mushroom and cheese omelettes for all of them. Alec pushes the computer away and Parker sets the empty cereal bowl aside, and the three of them sit down to eat.

            “We got anything?” Eliot asks, nodding to the folded laptop. Alec shakes his head.

            “Nothin’. Maybe somethin’ll come in, maybe we gotta hang ‘round the courthouse a bit. But so far, it’s been a whole lotta nothin’.”

            Eliot sighs. Sometimes, they all need time off, but too much time without a job gets tedious. Hopefully someone will show up soon.

            Parker steals a piece of bacon off Eliot’s plate and Eliot pretends not to notice. To be fair, he doesn’t actually see her do it, just notices it’s gone, and that she now has an extra, halfway to her mouth. He’s pretty sure the rule is that, if she gets it back to her plate, it’s hers, so he lets it go.

            After breakfast, Eliot cleans up and the other two disappear for a while. Alec goes into the pub to deal with the brewing, and Eliot honestly has no idea where Parker is. Neither of them do, half the time. Sometimes she tells them, sometimes she doesn’t, but she always comes home in the end, so it works out.

            Once he’s done the dishes, he keeps in the cleaning spirit and straightens up the apartment. Parker can be compulsively neat, Eliot knows, but Alec must have rubbed off on her in a not as good way, because the apartment is almost always at least a little messy. They rarely clean up after themselves, leaving clothes and computers and harnesses and every other little thing one could possibly imagine--and some that have truly surprised Eliot--everywhere. Eliot can be messy too, but he tends to confine his mess to the kitchen, and he’s religious about cleaning up after himself there, lest the kitchen grow in any way not fit to cook in. Cleaning up the apartment can be a full-time job. Only they haven’t been on a job in so long, and Eliot’s been around the apartment most all day, every day, with nothing to do but pick up. There’s not that much left to clean up.

            After that, his options are pretty much limited to bothering the hired chef in the pub or working out, unless he wants to get creative and find somewhere to go out to. But mostly he does that with Parker and Alec now, and going to museums or the park or anywhere else is significantly less fun on his own. So, working out it is.

            He doesn’t do anything too strenuous, just enough to keep his body on edge, ready to go should he need to pull a job anytime soon. His job is keeping the people he loves most safe, and he’ll never let himself grow sloppy on that front.

            His muscles ache a little bit as he begins to stretch, and he can’t help the smile that gives him. He’s ached constantly for a long, long time now, but this is different. This isn’t the ache from a job well done, or even a job poorly done. This is always, infinitely, pleasant. It’s not just aches from sex, either, although that’s certainly part of it. But it’s also from the fact that Parker seems to think dating entitles her to use him as her personal climbing gym, or the fact that Alec sometimes kicks in his sleep and gets Eliot’s shins. It’s from having them in his life, and it’s always the most pleasant reminder to get.

            He knows when Parker comes in but doesn’t stop to acknowledge her right away. He knows she’s sitting on the back of the couch, watching him, and he doesn’t let it show on his face, but it makes him want to smile a bit. Let her enjoy the show.

            When he’s done, he’s sweating, and he feels good. Parker grins at him. “You got all dirty again,” she accuses.

            “Guess I need another shower.”

            She nods. “You look bored,” she says.

            He shrugs, reaching for the shirt he discarded earlier. “Yeah, well. Been too long without a job. We need to do somethin’, Parker.”

            “Alec’ll find us something.”

            “Better hope he does it soon, or I’ll take you up on one of your crazy schemes.” She always has something she wants to steal, a building she wants to break into, something that serves no purpose other than pure pleasure for her.

            Her face lights up. “There’s this vault…”

            “Give it a few more days,” he interrupts. “Then we’ll talk. For now, gonna go get cleaned up. Then I’ll make some lunch.”

            He strips off the rest of his clothes as he walks to the bathroom, letting them pile to the floor, where he’ll pick them up later. He does it partly because he can, mostly because he’s pretty sure Parker enjoys the view.

            He doesn’t spend too long in the shower, just enough time to get the sweat off. Then he dries off and wanders through the apartment, gathering his clothes back up and dressing again. Parker watches from a perch on the stairs, grinning.

            “Wanna get Alec for lunch?” he asks.

            She nods and he heads for the kitchen. Predictably, when he turns around to look again, she’s gone, although he swears he didn’t hear the door or the vents.

            He throws together sandwiches and passes out plates when the other two come back in. They eat at the table and Alec chats about the new beers, at least a few of which Eliot is confident won’t be awful. Still, it’s an experimental process, he knows. And Alec’s made some great ones, he’ll admit. Besides, it makes Alec happy, and for that it wouldn’t matter if every single one is absolutely terrible, except for the fact that it would put them out of business.

            After lunch, they all sit around the main room, taking up various tasks. Alec has an array of computers set up. Parker is checking lines and ropes. Eliot sharpens all the kitchen knives. It’s a set of tasks meant to eat time, but they have nothing else to do.

            Suddenly, Alec freezes. “Uh, Eliot,” he says. “I’m gettin’ a call on a line I got marked off as yours. It’s video, comin’ through…”

            Eliot sets the knives aside and moves behind Alec to look over his shoulder. They have contacts all over the world, some of them they actually want to keep, and as such they need permanent ways of maintaining contact. Eliot wonders who this one is.

            “That number is San Lorenzo,” he says, scanning where Alec points. It’s the number General Flores has, the one Eliot makes sure will always work, because he made the man a promise all those years ago, and he intends to keep it.

            Alec clicks something and a video pops up. Two more clicks and it’s on the monitors. Eliot looks up at Flores’ face.

            “General,” he says, falling into parade rest behind Alec’s chair.

            The General smiles. “Spencer,” he says. “I was hoping to get ahold of you.”

            “I’m here, sir,” he says. “Me and my team. What can we do for you?”

            He clears his throat, and Eliot knows this isn't a friendly call. Not that he necessarily thought it was one, because General Flores may like him but they are not friends. But he seems very serious, and Eliot stiffens up in response.

            "We've had a bit of...an incident here," Flores says.

            "Vittori?" Eliot guesses. "Is he alright? Or..."

            Flores shakes his head. "Our president is fine," he says.

            Eliot's stomach drops. His next assumption is one he doesn't want to speak aloud, but judging from the way Flores is looking at him, it has to be considered.

            "Did Moreau escape?" He demands. Parker and Alec turn lightning-quick, staring at Eliot.

            Flores shakes his head and Eliot relaxes marginally. That is, until Flores imparts his news. "Moreau is still in his cell. But...there was an incident. Someone made it down to the tombs. He dressed as a guard. His goal seemed to be to get Moreau."

            "An accomplice?" Eliot asks, already running through lists of potentials. He killed Chapman, Moreau's most loyal, and they took down most of his network. But that didn't mean there weren't others out there, waiting.

            Flores shakes his head. "Doubtful. Moreau was the one who called for help, raised the alarm. We caught the intruder."

            Eliot releases a deep breath. Moreau has enemies, and it makes sense some may be unsatisfied with leaving him alive behind prison bars. He begins to formulate more lists. "Has the intruder said anything?" Eliot asks.

            Flores hangs his head for a moment, hesitating. “He’s dead,” he says. “An over-vigorous guard, trying to stop the attack. Too late to save him.”

            Eliot hears Alec and Parker suck in sharp, identical breaths of surprise. He nods. "So...you have nothing."

            Flores bows his head. "We do," he agrees. "But Moreau seems to know something."

            "Then get it out of him," Eliot all but growls. He's not necessarily a proponent of torture, and the thought of torturing Damien Moreau, the man he loved and swore to protect with his life, doesn't sit well, even as a part of him wants nothing more than to do it himself. But they need answers, and used correctly, torture can be good for that.

            Flores shakes his head. "You should know better, Commander. When you bring a truly good, truly honest man to power, he won't stand for those things. He will not make Moreau talk."

            Eliot does growl then.

            Flores holds up a hand to keep peace. "Moreau has offered to talk," he says. "But only to you."

            All three of them gasp with varying levels of intensity at that piece of news, and Parker shakes her head. "No," she says. "We're not bringing Eliot to see Moreau."

            Flores shrugs. "And if it's the only way to find out who wants to kill him?"

            Shockingly, Alec’s the one who says it. “Then let him die?” he suggests. “Man wants protection, he ain’t exactly in a position to be bargaining, here. Ain’t exactly like the world’ll miss his ass, either.”

            Eliot half agrees, but a part of him still doesn’t want Moreau dead. Maybe it’s the part of him that wants to kill him himself, maybe it’s the part that never wants to see him hurt. Regardless, he’s not up for just leaving the man to his fate.

            Flores looks at them disappointedly. “You’ll just leave the man to die?” he asks.

            “Tell him Eliot’s no longer up for saving him,” Parker says. “Tell him to get serious or get dead.”

            Flores nods, clearly resigned. “Very well, then. I’ll do that. Nice speaking to you, Commander.”

            He disconnects the call, and Eliot realizes his knuckles are practically white where they clutch the back of Alec’s chair.

            “You okay?” Alec asks quietly.

            Eliot breathes deep, then nods. “I will be,” he says.

            Parker’s climbing on his back before he even really realizes she’s out of her seat. “It’ll be okay,” she says assuredly into his ear, wrapping her arms around him tight. She doesn’t really need to hold on that tight to stay on him, not with the strength of her legs, which means this is her version of a hug. It’s comfort, and he takes it as such.

            He turns his head back and she gets the hint and kisses him, and when they break apart, Alec’s there too, pulling Eliot into a kiss, and, between the two of them, he forgets the call for a little while.

 

_They asked him about Moreau relatively little. Really, it was a subject they all dodged around at first. Eliot didn’t want to remind them of his past, of what he did and who he loved, and they seemed reluctant to bring up any potential bad memories._

_The first time they had sex, they had wanted to put Eliot between them and Eliot hadn’t exactly objected to the prospect. It had all gone fine until Alec had hesitated. When Eliot had demanded to know why the fuck he would be stopping then, Alec had asked if he even liked to be penetrated._

_Eliot had growled, because he told them what he and Moreau did, had been brutally honest in that regard, and he’d told them Moreau never made him do anything. Of course he liked it, as much as anything else. He knew Alec’s hesitance came from some assumption that Moreau must have hurt him, forced him, that such a bad guy couldn’t have a genuine lover. Or perhaps it came from wanting to believe Eliot wasn’t really messed up enough to have loved Moreau, to think maybe Moreau really did force him into it._

_He’d told Alec that he liked it just fine, that fucking and getting fucked all felt good if done right, and to get on with it, already. And if that was the confirmation Alec needed that Eliot was a messed up person, that he really loved Moreau, that he wasn’t worthy of them, then fine. It wasn’t like he’d put any effort into hiding that, recently._

_The three of them had exhausting, brilliant, mind-blowing sex and none of them said a word about Damien Moreau, or implied anything about Eliot’s time with him, and it was all good._

_After that, they started bringing him bracelets, and watches and bands, things to add to his collection of wrist adornments. He was sure they were perfectly aware of what they were replacing, but they didn’t say anything. Some of them were expensive and stolen, some were simply cheap knick-knacks that apparently made them think of him. All were presented without fanfare or expectation. Eliot wore what they brought him more than any other in his collection._

_But they never mentioned the name, never directly brought up that piece of Eliot’s past. Damien Moreau hung between them, silent and unnamed, and Eliot should have known it was only a matter of time before he crashed into the perfect little life Eliot had built._

 

            They spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies on the couch, Alec cuddled into his side and Parker spread across their laps. Eliot keeps his arms around them and doesn’t let go.

            When the second film ends, he decides he should make them dinner. He keeps it simple, a tried and true chicken dish he could make in his sleep, but they’re grateful nonetheless. They always are. Eliot supposes they have to be, considering they would die of malnutrition without his help.

            Once the dishes are clear, Alec’s computer starts pinging again, and he springs across the room to grab it. He opens it and scans it, then frowns. “It’s San Lorenzo again,” he says, and Eliot leaves storing away the leftovers to come around behind Alec, Parker hot on his heels.

            General Flores looks significantly more worn when Alec puts him up on the screen. “There’s been another attack,” he says wearily.

            “Is he alive?” Eliot asks.

            “For now. He’s in the hospital, right now. The attacker almost strangled him.”

            “And the attacker?” Eliot asks.

            Flores shakes his head. “We locked him in a cell. We came back, and he was dead.”

            “Suicide?” Eliot asks. There are a lot of people who want Damien Moreau dead, but far fewer who employ suicidal assassins for fool’s missions. He reconsiders his list of potential attackers.

            Flores shrugs. “It hasn’t been ruled yet. Possibly. It looks like he hung himself. But…”

            “But you’ve had two leaks and two dead failed attackers,” Eliot concludes. “Checkin’ your people?”

            “Of course,” Flores says. “It will take time, though.”

            Eliot nods. He hesitates a moment, but he has to ask. “And Moreau?”

            “He’s awake. He’s not supposed to speak, but he demanded to see you again,” Flores says.

            Eliot notices how tight Alec grips the computer. He settles a hand on his shoulder in what’s meant to be a soothing gesture, but he’s not sure how much he succeeds, not with his hands shaking.

            “He says only you can help him,” Flores continues.

            “I ain’t any better than a lot of soldiers,” Eliot says.

            “He couldn’t say more, but he wrote it down,” Flores says. “Listen to me, Spencer. Moreau says to find you and bring you to him. He says that he only trusts you to take care of this.”

            “Ha!” Parker says, and for once no one even looks to her for explanation. They all just get it.

            Flores clears his throat. “He says they want something from him. Something we all should be worried about it falling into the wrong hands. And he hasn’t said where it is, but we should be concerned about that outcome.”

            “What is it?” Alec demands.

            Flores shrugs. “He’s being careful with his information. But he says Spencer has it, and Spencer can keep it safe.”

            “I don’t have anything,” Eliot protests, half to Flores and half to his team, needing them to believe he hasn’t been keeping anything for Damien Moreau, and hasn’t been keeping secrets from them.

            “He says you may not know you have it, but you do,” Flores says, then shrugs. “He wouldn’t get more specific. Just said he remembers you being smart, and while he thinks you’re squandering your talents, he doubts you’ve become stupid. You should be able to figure it out, he thinks.”

            Eliot’s fingers tighten on Alec’s shoulder and he doesn’t notice until Alec squirms. He loosens his grip immediately. “Sorry,” he murmurs, rubbing the spot absently as he stares at the screen. Of course Moreau had to slip a dig in there about the team, about Eliot’s chosen career path. He’d never made it a secret how he felt about what Eliot did after he left him, and Damien Moreau is not a man accustomed to humbling himself, even when essentially asking for his own life.

            “I don’t know anything,” Eliot emphasizes. “I did a lot for him,” he admits freely, “but that was a decade ago. And...none of it would be sending people after him now. Nothing that I have.”

            Flores shrugs. “He mentioned to consider his gift to you? He’s sure you still have it.” He hesitates a second, then asks, “Spencer, are you coming?”

            Eliot considers. It’s likely a ploy to get him to San Lorenzo for some unknown reason. Moreau wants something, something from him, and Eliot doubts it’s anything good. But the people coming to kill him are almost certainly real, which means the information Moreau says they want may be real and may need to be protected. And Eliot finds he doesn’t want the man dead, not if it’s at all avoidable. He sighs. “I’ll get a plane out in the morning,” he promises. “Keep him alive overnight.”

            “Will do,” Flores says, nodding once before disconnecting the call.

            Alec and Parker are staring at him. “You’re going?” Parker asks.

            He nods. “Think I have to,” he says. “Have to check it out, anyways.”

            Alec sighs. “Well, I’ll book us tickets,” he says.

            “Us?” Eliot asks. “Alec, you two don’t gotta come.”

            “You think we’re letting you do this alone?” he asks, head already buried in his laptop.

            Parker moves to put a hand on Eliot’s arm. “Together,” she reminds him.

            He sighs. He can’t argue that, and he knows it. The fact that he doesn’t want them anywhere near Damien Moreau and whoever is coming for him won’t hold water, not in the face of Parker and her ideas about what it means to be together, all in, for better or worse. He swallows and nods, accepting.

            “First class tickets, stopover in New York, then Frankfurt, we leave in eight hours,” Alec says, looking up.

            Eliot runs a hand over his face. “Okay, then. We better get some sleep first.”

            They put Eliot in the middle again that night, and Eliot doesn’t protest, just pulls them closer and tries to get to sleep.

 

_Damien Moreau had only been injured once on Eliot’s watch._

_Eliot had been too slow, not quite observant enough. It was a business deal Damien had shown up in person for, Eliot at his side as always, and someone had taken a shot. Eliot had been focused on the partner and his men, hadn’t scanned their surroundings well enough. He’d heard the shot and pushed Damien out of the way, but it hadn’t been fast enough._

_Damien had managed to mostly control the pain when he went down, but Eliot saw the bullet tear through his shoulder. He signalled for the rest of the men to take care of the problem and covered Damien with his own body, using an incredibly expensive suit coat to stem the bleeding._

_“You’re gonna be just fine,” he assured the man, pressing the fabric into the wound. Damien hissed, but managed half a smile._

_“I know,” he said. “I have you looking out for me, and you never fail me. Now...the plan?”_

_The plan was simple. The plan was for Eliot to leave the other men behind to take care of things, to kill everyone in the warehouse--they had yet to determine if Damien’s business partner was implicated in this, but Eliot couldn’t care less right then, and his presence was guilt enough--and to hunt down the sniper. He himself had a more important job._

_He used his body to shield Damien as he moved him to the backseat of a car, then to a hospital. Damien laughed from the backseat, even as he held Eliot’s jacket to his wound, now soaked through with blood. “I’ll live, my friend,” he said._

_Eliot growled but didn’t respond, determined to get Damien to the hospital as fast as possible._

_Damien Moreau was a criminal, but his record looked clean, and he was incredibly rich, so they took care of him fast and they took care of him well. The surgery on his arm was quick, clean, and the best._

_Eliot sat by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. He thought briefly about going to help the others with the search, but ultimately decided against it, at least for then. Ensuring that Damien was okay was the highest priority._

 

            The alarm goes off only a few hours after they’ve fallen into bed. Eliot’s already awake, if only just, and the other two get up when the annoying buzzing begins. Alec turns it off, and they all sit up and rub sleep out of their eyes.

            They have bags mostly together and ready to go, so they really just have to get dressed and grab them. Eliot forgoes making breakfast and says they’ll get something at the airport. The thought of airport food doesn’t do much for his stomach, but he doesn’t want to try to cook. He’s too nervous.

            They have to stop at Eliot’s bank first. He leaves the others in the lobby when he goes back to his safety deposit box, opening it up and pulling out the leather bracelet. He can’t imagine what it has to do with anything, but Moreau clearly meant this when he talked about gifts he’d given Eliot. Besides the clothes he had on his back and the guns he dropped at Flores’ feet, it’s the only thing from Moreau he walked away from him with. He stuffs it in his bag where he doesn’t have to look at it, then goes back out to Alec and Parker.

            Alec drives them to the airport. They make it through security and onto the flight without issues. Once again, Eliot sits behind the other two, giving himself the ability to watch over them. Mostly he just ends up watching them sleep and drinking water as the hours tick by. Portland to San Lorenzo is a sixteen hour flight, without the two hour-long stopovers they have to add.

            They almost miss their connecting flight in Frankfurt and barely make it on the plane, but they arrive in San Lorenzo, right on time.

            As soon as they’re off the plane and out of the terminal, Eliot takes a deep breath. Nothing smells quite like San Lorenzo. The air always carries a hint of salt, and sunshine. Someday, he’ll have to come to San Lorenzo for pleasure, not business. The smell upsets his stomach.

            Alec rents a car and Eliot rides in the back, letting Parker take shotgun as he calls Flores. “We’re headed to the hospital,” he says shortly. “Have someone waitin’ for us.”

            They drive in silence. They haven’t been talking much at all since the news came in, and Eliot hopes this hasn’t ruined anything. But it would be just like Moreau, to destroy everything he touches, even inadvertently. Moreau was never known for worrying about collateral damage.

            His hand lingers on the strap of his bag, thinking of what he shoved inside that morning. The bracelet. The stupid, stupid bracelet that’s caused so much trouble. That apparently holds some value to Moreau now. Either that, or he just wants to see if Eliot still has it, if he can leverage the situation in any way. Eliot resolves not to let him. He has Alec and Parker now, and he’s honest with them, completely honest. Moreau has nothing on him.

            It doesn’t take long to get to the hospital, and a soldier is waiting for them, standing at attention in the morning sun. Eliot is always respectful of those who serve, but today his patience is thin. “Take me to him,” he growls. The soldier leads the way, Eliot after him, and Alec and Parker hot on his heels.

            Moreau’s room has two guards posted outside. “Anything overnight?” Eliot asks them. They shake their heads and step aside to let their group through. Eliot takes a deep breath as the door opens.

            Moreau is sitting up, clearly awake. He grins at them. “Eliot Spencer,” he greets. His voice is scratchy and broken, but it manages to send a shiver down Eliot’s spine nevertheless.

            He feels Parker and Alec settle in behind him. Parker even settles a hand on the small of his back, a small, reassuring touch he latches onto.

            “Moreau,” he says. “Heard someone was lookin’ to kill you.”

            “Unfortunately,” Moreau drawls. “And I heard you’re going to help keep me alive.”

            “I’m considerin’ it,” Eliot hedges.

            “No one flies this far to consider things,” Moreau rasps. “You’ve made up your mind, whether you like it or not. You care whether I live or die.”

            Eliot growls. “I care whether whatever secret you have falls into the wrong hands.” Moreau smirks slightly, and Eliot knows that Moreau knows he’s at least partially a liar.

            “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says. “Tell Flores I’d like a meeting, and then we can all talk this out.”

            “Talk now, dammit,” Eliot snaps.

            Moreau fakes a yawn. “Sadly, attempted strangulation has made me quite tired. I’m sure I’ll be well-rested in time for a meeting, though,” he says, lying down and turning on his side.

            Eliot growls and storms out of the room, phone already in hand, Parker and Alec on his heels once more.

            Eliot calls Flores in the car, and he says he can make it for a meeting with them and Moreau at seven, which gives them almost nine hours to entertain themselves. Considering how long it’s been since they’ve all properly slept, getting a hotel rooms seems like the first step. Alec drives again, bringing them back to the hotel they stayed in last time they were on the island.

            They get one room, on the top floor. It has a big bed and a little bit of a sitting room and a nice bathroom, exactly what they need for however long they’re here. Eliot tosses his bag by the foot of the bed and sits down on the edge, letting himself sag a bit.

            The other two make it over to him slowly, dropping their bags and then sitting behind him. Alec lays a hand on the small of Eliot’s back, big and warm and rubbing slightly. Parker’s small hand closes over his shoulder, strong and sure.

            He lets them for a few minutes, before shaking them off gently. “We should sleep,” he says. “Been a long day.”

            They at least slept on the plane, as poor a sleep as that may be, but he hasn’t slept since they were in Portland.

            They shuck clothes onto the floor, not even bothering to clean up after themselves. Once they’re down to their underwear, they slip under the blankets. Parker worms her way into the middle, Alec and Eliot pressed close around her, and they all fall asleep within minutes.

 

_They called him Moreau’s dog._

_It was, Eliot supposed, marginally better than Moreau’s whore, which was a name some in the know--or some who guessed well--also inflicted upon him. He could bare either name just fine._

_Names didn’t hurt him. They could sneer and call him a dog, they could call him a whore, they could do what they wanted. Moreau’s other staff did it when Moreau was out of earshot and they assumed Eliot was too. Enemies did it, business associates did it. At one point, Eliot assumed half the criminal world knew him by one of those names or the other._

_The names were correct. He took orders, obeyed Moreau’s every whim, did his job beyond what anyone else would ever do. He was devoted, he was loyal. If they wanted to call him a dog for that, then they would. He let the man fuck him, enjoyed it, even. If they wanted to call him a whore for that, then they would. They were just words._

_Besides, Eliot had another name for himself. He might have been the loyal dog, he might have been the dirty whore, but he was also Moreau’s chosen one, from the day he took that first bullet to the day he walked away, and no amount of name-calling would lessen that for him._

 

            The bedside alarm goes off and Eliot sits up, reaching out to shut it off. Parker and Alec groan, waking up. It’s only been a couple hours, but they have a meeting to get to.

            Eliot reaches down for his bag, deciding he wants a shower before he goes back. He fuzzily realizes that the last time he showered was in Portland, teasing Parker after his workout. He's sure he could stand to clean up.

            He digs through his bag for fresh clothes, and in doing so, his hand manages to catch on the bracelet. He digs it out and sets it on his lap before finding fresh clothes.

            “Here,” he says, chucking the bracelet at Alec. “Moreau said somethin’ ‘bout this. See if there’s anythin’ to it.”

            Alec catches the bracelet then promptly drops it. “You ever think the dude just wanted to see if you still kept this?” Alec asks. “Maybe he wants to know if you kept your damn collar, an’ if he can hook the leash back up to it.”

            Eliot doesn’t let Alec see him react, but inside of him everything goes still. They called him Moreau’s dog and he let them, because back then he was and it didn’t matter what they said. But now, he’s theirs, their hitter, their friend, their teammate, their lover, and he is so far from Moreau’s. He’ll never be Moreau’s again. And it hurts that Alec would even imply that he could be, now, after everything.

            He wants to say it’s not like that, that whatever everyone else assumed and whatever Eliot let them say, Moreau hadn’t meant it like that. Moreau had cared for him, maybe even loved him. He was more than a guard dog, more than a good fuck. He wants to say it, but he doesn’t, because he has no clue what Damien Moreau really thinks, none at all, and maybe it always was meant like that, maybe it was all he ever was to the man.

            It felt like more, then. Eliot wonders if that makes him an idiot, that he believed that.

            “Don’t,” Parker says to Alec, her voice firm.

            Alec, for his part, looks a little ashamed. “Eliot, I’m--” he begins, but Eliot holds up a hand. He doesn’t want to hear Alec apologize, not for this. Alec is allowed, more than anyone, to be snappish about things between Eliot and Moreau.

            “S’okay,” he says. “Gonna go shower. Just--look?” he asks.

            He doesn’t check to see if Alec nods, just takes his clothes and heads for the bathroom. He showers and changes quickly, not in the mood for anything else.

            Parker is perched on the edge of the bed, and Alec is sitting cross-legged at the head, bent forward. Eliot frowns when he realizes Alec is holding his pocketknife, and that the leather bracelet is bisected and left on the sheets.

            “What the hell?” he demands, angry now, because he trusted Alec. He knows the bracelet bothers Alec, but he trusted Alec to respect his stuff, to respect that it means something to him, even if Alec hates it.

            Alec looks up cooly, holding two little electronic pieces up for Eliot to see. Eliot’s mouth snaps close.

            “Guess Moreau was right ‘bout this bein’ useful,” he says dryly. “An’ guess I was right too--he had a pretty good virtual leash on ya, Eliot.”

            Eliot feels his stomach drop out.

 


	2. Chapter Two

_It took four days for Alec to shake his head and laugh. "Man, you gonna call me by my name, or am I gonna haveta feel like we're on a job, even like this?"_

_Considering that the three of them were in bed, cuddled close, Eliot got it. Hardison was for work and talking over the comms and moments of desperate urgency and fear. Alec was for moments like that one, moments for the three of them._

_Eliot hadn’t realized it before right then, but he’d been almost waiting for the invitation. Parker called Alec Alec and sometimes Hardison and sometimes babe, but Eliot hadn’t been invited to cross that line. He still wasn’t even sure where the lines were, and he was a little scared of stepping over one by accident._

_Alec had been rolling around, apparently trying to get comfortable, and had managed to knee Eliot in the thigh. Eliot’s responding “Dammit, Hardison,” had caused the whole discussion in the first place. His thigh still smarted, so he decided to try the new name out on his tongue. “Dammit, Alec,” he says._

_Parker giggled into his shoulder, and Alec laughed. Even Eliot couldn’t help but grin, although it was more from listening to them than the joke._

 

            Eliot walks into the hospital room once more, Parker and Alec right behind him. People scramble out of his way, and he wonders how bad his expression must be to cause that.

            He shouldn’t be so upset about this. Damien Moreau is a bastard. It’s not like Eliot ever had any delusions about that. Damien Moreau was always a cold bastard. A tracking chip and a mini little storage thing that Alec is still working on pulling the data from, tucked inside the gift he gave Eliot, shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, if Eliot really thinks about it. Eliot still remembers that night absolutely clearly, dinner on the patio, the ocean waves rushing against the shore in the background. It was a romantic dinner and a romantic gift. It was unsettling, is what it was, it was Eliot trying to figure out how the hell to deal with a relationship that was more than he ever expected it to be.

            And, apparently, it had all been a ploy.

            General Flores is already there when Eliot pushes into the room, sitting in a chair as far from Moreau as he can physically get. Eliot stops in the doorway and Alec almost bumps into him.

            He crosses his arms. “We found what was in my bracelet,” he growls.

            Moreau offers a smirk. “So, now you know I’m serious,” he says.

            “Now we know what you got,” Eliot corrects. “And you’re no use to us. We can leave your ass.”

            The smirk widens. “Good luck figuring it out without me,” he says.

            Eliot shrugs, gesturing to Alec, who’s still behind him. “He’s good. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

            “No one’s this good,” Moreau says. “You need me. Besides…” he hesitates half a second, clearly weighing his words. “I know you won’t leave me to die.”

            “Bettin’ a lot on that,” Eliot growls.

            “You kept that bracelet all these years, didn’t you?” Moreau shoots back, and Eliot flushes.

            He opens his mouth to retaliate, scrambling for words, but Flores cuts him off. “Come inside,” he says firmly, “and shut the door. This is a private matter.”

            Eliot shakes his head to clear it as he steps in, letting the others past him. He nearly had it out with Moreau with the door wide open, with two guards and god knows how many civilians able to hear. He needs to focus. He needs to be at the top of his game. He can’t afford to fall apart, no matter how big a blow the tracking chip and data chip are, no matter how unsteady this all makes him.

            There’s three other seats, and in the back of his mind Eliot thinks Flores prepared for this meeting. So they’re going to sit down and talk. Flores expects this to be formal and long.

            Eliot sits in the seat closest to Moreau, keeping himself between him and the others. Not that he thinks Moreau is going to lunge out of his hospital bed and attack, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Paranoia, right then, is his friend.

            “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” Moreau says, nodding to Parker and Alec.

            Eliot grits his teeth. “You haven’t met Parker,” he says. “But you remember...Hardison.” He almost says Alec, but that’s for them, a name only they and Nana call him, and not something Moreau should get to touch.

            “Right,” Moreau acknowledges. “The twenty-four year old genius with a smartphone and a problem with authority who crumbled a government?”

            “Age of the geek,” Alec says. Eliot can hear the pride in his voice, even if it’s half-strangled by the situation.

            Flores clears his throat, and Eliot lets him take control of the meeting. Eliot is here to broker some sort of deal, like a bargaining chip. He is a damn good retrieval specialist and he’s a strategist and he’s muscle and he’s a hitter. But Flores and Moreau are both politicians, in their way, and can communicate in a way Eliot just can’t, has never wanted to. He’s done his part. Let them hash this out.

            “Spencer came. Now, you have to live up to your end of the bargain,” Flores says.

            “Not so fast,” Moreau says. “I want a promise of protection. I want my safety guaranteed.”

            Flores looks at Eliot. Eliot takes a deep breath. “You give us what we want, then I’ll take care of it ‘til whoever it is is off your back,” Eliot promises.

            Moreau nods. “It’ll do,” he says. “For all that you’ve betrayed me, Eliot, you’re a rather honest man. I’ll take you at your word.” He takes a deep breath. “I want out of the tombs.”

            Eliot’s fine with that. The tombs have clearly been breached and he wasn’t looking forward to spending any amount of time down there, anyways. “‘Til this is over,” he agrees. “You ain’t leavin’ San Lorenzo, through.” It’s bad enough Moreau is getting out of his cage for any length of time, but Eliot isn’t going to risk the man slipping his leash.

            Moreau inclines his head. “It’ll do. My home?”

            Eliot starts, thinking of the villa in Italy. But Flores shakes his head. “It has been given to former President Ribera,” he says. “It is not an option.”

            Moreau scowls. “Fine,” he snaps. “Options?”

            Eliot shrugs. “Got a safehouse?” he asks Flores. Flores nods. “That’s it, then. Start talkin’, Moreau.”

            Then man takes a deep breath. “I made a business deal about a decade ago,” he says. “Not necessarily my normal fare, but they were previously affiliated with regular clients and they paid well and trusted my discretion. A job is a job, and I never turn down an easy job with a significant payday. So I took the information they wanted hidden and put it in the safest place I knew.”

            Eliot touches his wrist, then pulls his hand back as soon as he realizes what he’s doing. “That was a decade ago. The thing stayed hidden. What changed?”

            Moreau shrugged. “Someone told, I’d imagine, what they’d hidden. Whether they no longer trust my services to keep it hidden or want it to get out and reveal it is anyone’s guess. But it’s out there that I’ve been it’s keeper and now someone wants it.”

            “What is it?” Eliot demands, sick of dodging around the issue.

            Moreau shrugs again. “I don’t know the details. You know me, Eliot. I don’t ask too many questions. But...I do know a bit about who brought it to me. He called it insurance. And it came from Langley.”

            Eliot tenses and allows himself to look at the others. Both Alec and Parker watch this with wide eyes. He tries to control his reaction, but suddenly the CIA is involved in this and that is alarming. Eliot supposes it’s marginally better that the list of various terrorist groups he originally supposed, but only just. And anyways, they could easily still be involved, just further complicated by the CIA.

            Moreau hasn’t stopped talking. “Of course, it was alarming when you did the last thing I expected and walked out with such valuable information still in your possession. Still, I always plan ahead. I never lose my possessions.”

            Eliot can’t suppress this shiver. Moreau watched him. He knew where he was. He would have seen him join the team in Chicago, then LA. The bracelet never went to Boston, and then never went to Portland until long after Moreau was in prison so he shouldn’t know. Unless, of course, Moreau had someone watching Eliot.

            He wracks his brain, but he’s never brought the tracker into headquarters, into their apartment. That, at least, is safe. He still can’t surrender the desire to burn everything and start over somewhere clean.

            He takes a deep breath. He’s not going to get ahead of himself. He’s going to take care of whatever this mess is, he’s going to ensure Moreau is locked up tight once more. Then he’s going back to Portland, doubling his efforts towards their security, and putting this all behind them, preferably with a complicated but impersonal job or two and a lot of time with just him, Parker, and Alec.

            “Right,” he says abruptly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

_He was a paranoid bastard after he left Moreau. He became a retrieval specialist, took jobs with enough pay and enough demand to keep him interested. They served another purpose too. He hoped the jobs would fall well below Moreau’s radar._

_He still expected a bullet to the head most every time he turned a corner._

_When he first walked away, he was completely lost. He may have welcomed the bullet to the head, if it had come. He had given everything to Moreau and didn’t really know what to do, how to keep existing, once it was all gone._

_But he adapted, like he always did. He found a new role, a new job. It wasn’t the same, and he still felt a level of emptiness inside of himself after everything he’d given up. But he worked it out, and he found the will to keep going._

_It took him years to stop checking so rigorously around corners for Moreau and his men._

            The safehouse is an apartment in a building downtown. It’s three bedrooms, one living room, one tiny bathroom and one mediocre kitchen. It’s on the tenth floor, which limits exits but also limits potential entrances, and Eliot can work with that. Besides, there’s no such thing as limited exits when Parker is around.

            Alec sets up about a million cameras, and Parker checks through the building’s vents. Eliot shoves Moreau into the back bedroom and then checks window and door locks, then the place’s general integrity.

            He’s checking the kitchen--and finding himself generally disappointed--when the other two catch up with him. They each wrap an arm around him, Parker leaning into his side, Alec squeezing his hip. “You okay?” Alec asks.

            Eliot shrugs. “I should be askin’ you two that.”

            Alec squeezes his hip again. “No pools. I’m good.” It makes Eliot’s heart hurt to hear it. He wishes he could do that day over again, not for the first time. It had been a sound plan, and it had gotten the job done. But that was what Moreau’s man, his dog, did, and not the man even a little worthy of Alec and Parker.

            Parker nudges him. “Are you okay?”

            He nods. “I’ll be fine. I can do this.”

            “We can still leave his ass,” Alec says. “I got the chip, I’ll figure it out. We don’t need him.”

            Eliot shakes his head. It’s hard to explain. He would like to think it’s just because Moreau has kept his end of the bargain and Eliot doesn’t betray his promises.

            Alec nods, seemingly accepting Eliot's word without much justification at all. Eliot always knows he's damn lucky to have these two in his life, who support him and trust him. They won't let him get away without explanation forever, but he appreciates the sign of trust given right now. “Gonna go figure out this chip,” Alec says, moving towards the couch. He sets up camp there, two laptops running and his iPad sitting to one side, ready for use.

            Parker looks at him hard and steady. “I’ll go out and get us food,” she says after a moment, clearly deciding to leave him be for the time being. “There’s nothing here, right?”

            Eliot shakes his head. “Just do takeout for now,” he says. “If we need groceries, I’ll have Flores arrange it. Be--be careful, Parker, okay?” he asks. He doesn’t have to say anymore. She knows how to move without being seen, to ditch any tails and disappear. She can take care of herself. It doesn’t stop him from worrying.

            She grins. “I always am,” she promises. She kisses his cheek, then Alec’s, then is out the door and gone. Eliot starts counting in his head, tracking time for which it’s reasonable and safe for her to be gone.

            He sits on the couch next to Alec, or as near as he can get without upsetting any computer equipment. He knows Alec probably doesn’t want to be bothered while working, but this isn’t him pulling together a briefing for a job. This is a secret stash of information unknown but undoubtedly deadly assailants are coming after them for, and Eliot’s job is to keep them all safe. He needs to stay appraised.

            “Find anything?” he asks.

            “In the last two minutes?” Alec snarks. Eliot waits, knowing he’ll get there. “Not yet. The encryption’s takin’ me a minute, okay? Well...it’s Langley.”

            “You hacked the Pentagon when you were twelve,” Eliot remembers.

            Alec grins. “An’ I’ll hack this too. But I didn’t do that in five minutes. I can’t do this that fast either, okay?”

            Eliot takes a deep breath. “Alright. Let me know as soon as you figure anything out,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he stands up.

            Alec looks up. “Where you goin’?” he asks.

            “To check on him,” Eliot says, jerking his thumb towards the back room. “Make sure he hasn’t jumped out the window or somethin’.”

            He hasn’t. He’s actually reclining on the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “Couldn’t get a more entertaining venue?” he asks without looking over at Eliot.

            Eliot shrugs. “Think you’d be used to it, after prison,” he says.

            “Always aim higher, my friend. I thought you would have learned that. Then again…” he trails off, then smirks.

            Eliot growls. “Not your friend,” he says. “Not your anything.”

            “No,” Moreau agrees. “You’re their’s now, aren’t you? Always have to be someone’s, Eliot. Need somewhere for all that loyalty to go. Is it as good, being theirs? Do they give you what I did? Is it what you need?”

            Yes. Undoubtedly yes. Eliot likes to belong, that much is true. He doesn’t need it, he’s done just fine on his own, but Moreau is right. Eliot isn’t the lone wolf he used to pretend to be. He needs a pack. The fight means so much more when there’s someone of value to protect.

            Alec and Parker give him everything. More than everything. They give him everything he could need and more. They’re far better than Moreau ever was.

            “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this with you,” he snaps.

            Moreau smiles. “You know something, Eliot?” he says. “You may be theirs, now, but there’s a little piece of you that’s still mine, isn’t there?”

            Eliot pushes the door open again. “Parker’ll be back with food,” he growls. “Don’t go anywhere.” He backs out of the room and closes the door behind him.

            Alec’s still working on the couch, so Eliot goes into the bedroom they claimed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, waiting for this all to be over.

 

_Eliot knew they were his and he was theirs long before they made anything official. His loyalty didn’t require any sort of return once it was given, and what they did give him was more than enough._

_And it all became real that morning in the kitchen, where they laid it out and said how they felt. Eliot knew then that things had changed, definitely for the better._

_The first time some goon knocked him unconscious--only for a moment, but long enough to worry them--and he woke to hear their frantic, panicked voices over the comms, he had smiled even as he had gotten up to finish the fight._

_He had always known they had stolen him, but it seemed that he had stolen them right back._

 

            Parker makes it back with food and Eliot tosses it in the kitchen. He’s not hungry, and Moreau can wait, and the other two know how to serve themselves, despite how often he does it for them. He goes back to the bedroom, trying to ignore everything but what he absolutely needs to focus on. His senses are as sharp as ever, and they’re safe, here. Still, he can’t quite shut off his brain like he wants. He used to be able to, and he wonders what it means that he can’t do it anymore.

            He wanders out of the room a while later. The food is still on the counter and Parker and Alec are on the couch. Alec’s bent over his computer, Parker sitting upside down. He doesn’t ask if they’re hungry. It’s been long enough since they last ate, so he makes up plates and re-heats them, serving them out.

            He brings food to Parker and Alec. He knows it's petty, but he waits a few minutes to bring Moreau his, letting it get cold. Finally, he decides he's put it off long enough, and grabs a plate.

            "Food," he announces, pushing open the door.

            Moreau sits up and takes his plate. "Couldn't even get a magazine in here?" He asks disgustedly. "Even prison is more entertaining than this. Ugh, the food is cold."

            "Take what you get," Eliot says.

            "Do you remember the dinners we used to have?" Moreau asks. "Italy, remember?"

            Eliot does, of course. He remembers the long, lingering, expensive meals, the wine, Moreau grabbing his thigh beneath the table and trying to make Eliot's composure slip. He remembers that dinner on the beach, too. He remembers every moment.

            He summons a smirk. "Sorry, my pockets ain't that deep. Take what you get, Moreau. Has to be better than prison food."

            Moreau looks at the food, seemingly allowing that. He grindingly picks up his fork and takes a bite of chicken.

            Eliot goes to move away, go somewhere, anywhere else. But before he can reach the door, it's thrown back open.

            Alec stands there, seemingly not realizing that he's standing feet from Damien Moreau. "Eliot," he says. "I got somethin' you need to see. Right now."

            Eliot leaves Moreau behind with his dinner and follows Alec back out into the main room.

            "What is it?" He asks, checking to make sure Moreau’s door is shut. It’s not exceptionally sound-proof, but it’s better than nothing, if Alec is about to say what Eliot thinks he is.

            "I finished," Alec says simply.

            "And?"

            Alec takes a deep breath. "Tell me if this is what I think it is," he says.

            Eliot's annoyed, because he is not the person to verify some computer mumbo-jumbo. But it's Alec, and he's not quite so far gone that he's stopped indulging him, so he leans over the screen, looking at the string of words that don’t immediately make sense. Then they solidify.

            It becomes apparent why Alec wanted him to look.

            "Holy shit," he breathes.

            "Is it?" Alec asks.

            Eliot nods.

            "Is it what?" Parker asks irritably, clearly sick of being left out.

            "A blacklist," Eliot says. "It's a goddamned CIA blacklist."

 

_Vance called him twice since the job with the flu._

_“Spencer,” he would say. “I have something that might interest you and your team…”_

_“No,” Eliot said each time. “I told you. I don’t do that anymore. I work with them.”_

_Vance would argue, and plead, and give every argument he had, but Eliot remained firm both times. That wasn’t his job anymore. Let someone else deal with it, he thought. There were plenty who could. He worked with Alec and Parker, righting wrongs and picking up where the law left off._

_He managed to stick to that, to leave his past behind and build his future, until Moreau showed back up and dropped a CIA controversy into their laps._

            Flores takes two hours to show up, and the four of them end up huddled around Alec’s computer, staring at the list of names.

            “Ya sure that’s what it is?” Alec asks for the tenth time.

            Eliot glares. “You thought it was too.”

            He shrugs. “Yeah, but...just names an’ shit, not exactly a label on this. What if it’s, like, names of people the CIA wants to kill? I ain’t givin’ that back.”

            Eliot sighs. “Then it’s ten years old,” he points out. “And, anyway, Moreau says his guy smuggled it out as insurance. Blacklist makes more sense, that context. Threaten to have Moreau publicize it if he doesn’t get what he wants, most likely.” Eliot spares a thought for the man who thought to bargain with the CIA, wonders who he was and where he is. Probably dead, actually. Maybe recently dead, tortured for information and giving up the blacklist in the process.

            “I don’t get it,” Parker says. “It’s ten years old. Who wants a list of ten year old spies? Is it even still good?”

            “Probably not,” Eliot admits. “Most of it isn’t, anyways. But there’s somethin’ they want. Or maybe they don’t know what it is.”

            “We’re missing something,” Parker says resolutely.

            Eliot growls. “There’s a list of names. People. Where they lived, them, their families, all of it can be gotten from that. It doesn’t take much to destroy someone, to find everythin’. People will die if this list gets out.”

            “So is it the CIA after Moreau?” Parker asks.

            “Don’t think so,” Eliot says. “They could. An’ they’d want their stuff back. But this is a little rough-and-tumble for them, don’t ya think? ‘Sides, it doesn’t make sense. It’s been kept hidden for a decade. Why come after him now? He’s in jail, they know he ain’t gonna leak it. Why bother?”

            “So who wants it, then?” Alec asks, frustratedly.

            Eliot shrugs. “A million different governments, spy groups, criminal and terrorist organizations. Take your pick.” he shrugs again. “Can’t rule it down any further, not unless we know why they want that stupid piece of junk.”

            “So, what do we do?” Alec asks.

            Eliot shrugs. “Give it back,” he says.

            Alec’s eyes go wide. “Give it back? To the CIA? You want us to march up to the CIA an’ give their super secret list of spies back? If that’s even what it is, by the way. But it ain’t like it says, ‘if found, please return’ on it. How we gonna explain this?”

            “We’ll tell them the truth,” Eliot says. “Or, San Lorenzo will. Flores’ people will return it. With the truth--Moreau had it, someone’s after him for it, he told you where it is, you’re returnin’ it. Probably best to leave us outta it.”

            Flores nods at this. “It can be done,” he says. “Easily enough. I imagine the Americans will be suspicious, but they will have their documents back and no one will keep coming after us. Everyone will be satisfied.”

            Parker nods too. “They can deal with the assassins, then.”

            Alec nods, already reaching for his computer. “If I can get word out we don’t have it anymore, that it’s headed home, then we’re in the clear.”

            Eliot shifts. Something still doesn’t feel right, even as he fakes calm for the others. The list is ten years old now, and while Eliot’s sure the names on it are still worth something to someone, and undoubtedly dangerous, he can’t explain why people are coming after it now. Sure, it could be valuable to know who in the CIA did what when, but ten years is a long time to wait. There has to be better information, somewhere.

            “You sure this is all there is to it?” Eliot asks.

            Alec seems to sense his nerves and skips the sarcasm. “I checked, Eliot. ‘Less they got somethin’ I ain’t ever seen before, this is it.”

            Eliot nods, taking his word. “Can you hack the CIA?”

            Alec raises an eyebrow. “Can I hack the CIA with the contents of my backpack?” He pauses a moment. “Depends on what you want. Some things, ya can’t even get to off site. Other things, I go poking at 'em, they’ll lock me out in a hot minute, and we’ll have bigger problems on our asses.”

            They really don’t need that, but Eliot still feels like there’s another piece to this puzzle missing. “I need you to go through old records,” he says. “I need to see if this list is real.” He stands.

            “Where are you going?” Parker demands.

            “Make some phone calls,” he says. “I wanna know who’s on our asses.”

            His phone calls aren’t overly helpful. He doesn’t have many people in that world willing to take his call, but there are enough who still owe him favors and are smart enough not to dodge his calls when they come due.

            There’s not much word out there about any of it, about hits on Damien Moreau or secret old blacklists coming to light. He gets nothing at all until his fourth call.

            “There was word of a crew being put together,” an old Greek retrieval specialist Eliot knew way back when tells him guardedly.

            Eliot runs a hand over his face. His Greek isn’t that good, but the old man refuses to speak English. He has to make sure he gets this right. “A crew?” he clarifies. At the noise of assent, his head spins a little bit. Most organizations he’d been thinking of don’t put together outside crews, not when they have their own people. “Did you join?” he asks.

            “I’m old, Spencer,” the man says. “I don’t do that anymore, you know that. Besides--going after Damien Moreau? I’ve done a lot, Spencer, but even in prison the man frightens me.”

            Eliot privately agrees. “Do you know what they wanted?” he asks.

            “Didn’t seem like they’d be telling outsiders, does it? No. I doubt anyone knew--seemed like that kind of gig. Everyone just did their job. All I know is they wanted information, something hidden.”

            “Know anything else?” Eliot asks, frustration mounting. “Who they were? Nationality, affiliation? Anything?”

            “The one who approached me was American. I don’t know if they all were, or just the one I spoke to. Was a suit. But they always are, aren’t they?”

            “CIA?” Eliot asks.

            “Maybe. Why do they need a crew?”

            He’s right. None of it makes any sense. The CIA shouldn’t suddenly be concerned with a ten year old blacklist with no danger of being released. They have their own people, and while it’s not unheard of for intelligence organizations to contract dirty work out of house, this seems like a relatively low-key job for that.

            He thanks the man and hangs up. He tries three more calls, but gets nothing new. He gives up, running out of numbers he can call and patience to deal with a lack of answers. Maybe Alec’s found something.

            He walks out of the bedroom and into the living room. Parker’s watching over Alec’s shoulder, and Flores has pulled out a file to read.

            “What’s up?” he asks.

            Alec looks over at him, brow furrowed. “Man, these ain’t CIA employees. I can’t tell you much, not with this set-up, but...that I am sure of. Ain’t now, never were. And...did you really read the names? Take a closer look.”

            Eliot does, Parker leaning in on the opposite side. He sees it now, the list of names that aren’t exactly American enough to pass muster. And sure, lots of different people with lots of different names live in America, but the CIA isn’t exactly known for it’s nondiscriminatory hiring policies.

            “Who are they?” Eliot asks.

            Alec shrugs. “It’s a list of names, man. That’s it. I got nothin’.”

            “Can you find them?” Parker asks.

            Alec rolls his eyes. “Can I find them? Woman, you still think I do magic, don’t you?”

            “Can you?” Parker repeats.

            Alec sighs. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

            Flores stands up. “Am I bringing this chip to the CIA, or not?”

            Eliot shakes his head. “Not until I know what’s goin’ on,” he says. “Alec’s right. We need to be careful.”

            Flores nods. “Do you need me here? I have things to be doing.”

            Eliot shakes his head. “We’ll call you when we sort it out.”

            Flores leaves them and Alec bends even closer to his computer. “Well, that wasn’t hard,” he says. “Look at this.”

            Eliot doesn’t really know what he’s looking at, not all of it, not when Alec has about fifty different things up on his computer. But it doesn’t take a genius to see the repeated appearance of the words “missing” and “disappearance.”

            Parker sums it up for all of them. “We’re not giving that list back,” she says, and Eliot and Alec nod in quick agreement.


	3. Chapter Three

_Alec kissed down the side of his neck, fingers reaching for Eliot’s jeans. Parker watched them from across the room, eyes lighting up bright. It took all of Eliot’s willpower, but he pushed Alec away._

_“What’s up, man?” Alec asked, stepping back enough so he could look Eliot in the eye._

_Eliot gestured to the door between their apartment and the restaurant. “There are people eatin’ right out there,” he hissed. It was the beginning of the dinner rush, and Eliot was sure the place was full, like it was most nights._

_Alec shrugged. “So? Door’s locked.”_

_“People might hear,” Eliot said. It was unlikely, over the bustling restaurant, but then again, he had never quite expected the three of them together to be as loud as he now knew they could be._

_Alec grinned. “Whole place is soundproof, man. Completely. One hundred percent.”_

_Eliot wanted to tell him that that wasn’t safe, that then Eliot couldn’t hear anything dangerous that might happen in the restaurant. He supposed it was good, though, that no one had ever accidentally overheard them argue about cons and other illegal activities._

_He supposed it had other good uses, too._

_Eliot had never been loud during sex, and he hadn’t expected it of Parker, either. Parker had perfected the art of being silent and sneaky, and he didn’t see why the cat burglar would have been any different in this aspect of her life. He didn’t know what to think about Alec before this started, although if he had to pick one of the three of them, he supposed he would have assumed Alec to be the loud one._

_Except the three of them together seemed to bring out the noises in all of them. It was the first time Eliot was realizing what it really meant to let go during sex, and he thought it might be something like that for all of them._

_Regardless, by the end of the afternoon he had to conclude that a couch was a terrible place for three people to have sex, that he knew three new ways to make Alec moan and a good way to make Parker squeal and grab his hair, and that the soundproofing was a really, really good idea._

 

            In the end, they decide they’re bringing the list to the United Nations, along with all the information they have. Parker’s already spinning a million little cons in her head, ways they can put pressure on this, make something happen, but maybe they’ll get lucky. Maybe the world will be as horrified as they are, and deal with this.

            It’s not that Eliot doesn’t know that things like this happen. He’s done the dirty-work himself before, a few times. But a list of almost a hundred names, staring starkly at them from the computer screen, makes him sick. He supposes this is what comes of being a better man now.

            Parker closes her eyes and goes to the part of her brain she uses when she’s putting plans together. Alec copies the data and secures it, so they’ll have it should they need it for leverage, or to give it to someone else. Eliot waits, impatient and on edge. The sooner this is out of their hands, the sooner Alec can get the word out that the UN has it, then the sooner they’re all safe, and this isn’t their immediate problem, and Damien Moreau can cease to be a concern for them once more.

            Parker opens her eyes and nods. “Okay,” she says.

            “Okay?” Eliot asks. “Gonna share with the class?”

            She shrugs. “Do you need to know right now? I think right now all we need is to wait for Flores to throw Moreau back in his cell. Everything else we can deal with on the plane.”

            Eliot concedes the point. “I’ll call him back,” he says.

            Unfortunately, it seems that Flores isn’t going to be coming back that night. “Spencer, we’re dealing with the breach in our guard,” he says. “We cannot possibly take Moreau back until that’s dealt with.”

            Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right,” he agrees. “Are you close?”

            “Perhaps. We may be moving towards an arrest,” Flores allows.

            “You want us to keep watch until you know for sure,” Eliot concludes.

            “Yes.”

            Eliot sighs but agrees, knowing it’s the most logical solution even if it will make no one happy. Sure enough, he looks to the other two as he hangs up the phone and they do not look pleased.

            “So we’re stuck with him?” Alec asks.

            Eliot nods. “Until they find their mole.”

            Alec turns to his computer. “I can do that. Shoot, I can do that in five minutes.”

            “I think they’ve found him,” Eliot says quietly. “He said they were gettin’ close to an arrest. Probably just didn’t want to say over the phone, just to be safe.”

            Alec deflates. “So we just wait around?”

            Eliot nods, but Parker says, “No.”

            “Well, then, what do we gotta do?” Eliot asks.

            Parker grins, and Eliot knows that grin quite well. By the way the grin spreads to Alec’s face, Eliot guesses he knows what it means, too.

            “Oh, no,” Eliot says.

            “Why not?” Parker demands. “Do you not want to?”

            Eliot’s not exactly one to turn down sex, not unless he has actively bleeding wounds and broken bones. Sometimes, not even then, if he’s honest with himself. So he can see why they might be a little confused, but honestly, it should be obvious.

            “I’m not having sex with Moreau in the next room,” he hisses.

            Parker rolls her eyes. “Isn’t that the point?”

            So this is some sort of marking their territory type thing, and Eliot can’t really fault them for it. They know his whole sordid history with Moreau, and having him in the next room and being unable to get rid of him can’t be easy. Eliot wants them to know that he’s theirs, entirely, and he hasn’t even said anything about it. He’s been too busy with the job. He takes a deep breath.

            But Parker hasn’t stopped talking. “I mean, he’s a bad guy, and he hurt you,” she continues. “And…” she looks over to Alec for confirmation. “Isn’t that what people do? We saw a movie about it, once, remember? You show the bad person how much better off you are without them and what a big mistake they made.”

            Alec’s grinning. “Yeah, Mama, that’s it,” he says. He looks at Eliot. “You in, or what?”

            Eliot smiles. “Show him how much better off I am, huh?” he asks. He never really had any intention of showing Moreau anything. He helped throw the man in a jail cell, he figures he has nothing left to prove. They won.

            But the idea is tempting.

            “Bedroom,” he says, scooping Parker up as he passes, feeling Alec hot on his heels.

            Parker squeaks a bit when he drops her on the bed, and Alec laughs at them, shutting the door. Eliot hears Alec unzip his pants and he reaches behind himself. “C’mere,” he says. Alec wastes no time, letting his pants hit the floor as he goes.

            He presses himself up against Eliot. “You’re still dressed,” he says.

            Eliot would argue that Parker is still dressed too, but that’s not strictly true anymore, not as she contorts on the bed to take her clothes off. Eliot watches with rapt attention as Alec pulls at his clothes, watching Parker over Eliot’s shoulder as he works.

            When Parker is undressed, she makes impatient grabbing motions. “Come on,” she insists.

            They don’t need further encouragement, falling onto the bed and onto her, and soon enough hands and mouths are everywhere and Eliot lets his worries of the last few days slip away, at least for a little while.

 

_Eliot sat in their sitting room, reading. There were no jobs to do, no tasks to perform. Damien was in his office and not in danger from anything more serious than a paper cut. Eliot debated checking security or planning hypothetical jobs or cleaning weapons, but in the end he decided against it. Their security was perfect and well trained, planning hypothetical jobs without all the details was a waste of his time, and his weapons were already completely, meticulously clean. There was nothing much left to do._

_Damien wandered out of the office to find Eliot sitting on the couch, book in hand. Eliot looked up to find Damien frowning. “What?” he asked self-consciously. He knew he was a security guy, a soldier, and that sitting around reading was not expected. But Damien had bought him the book, like so many other things, so he thought it would be accepted. He assumed he was allowed some down-time._

_“You’ve read that one before,” Damien said simply._

_Eliot shrugged. “Guess I have,” he said. “It’s good.”_

_“We’ll have to get you some new books,” Damien said, sitting down on the couch, leaving only a few inches between himself and Eliot. “Any ones you want.”_

_Eliot shrugged. He liked reading when he had the time, and he liked the books Damien gave him, but he didn’t exactly read the New York Time’s Bestseller list, looking for his next read. “You pick.”_

_Damien nodded. “Is there anything else you want?”_

_“Don’t think so,” Eliot said. “Don’t need anything.”_

_He didn’t. Damien provided him more clothes than he knew what to do with, most of which cost more than Eliot could truly comprehend. He provided him weapons, and books, expensive dinners, everything Eliot could want before he even knew he wanted it._

_Damien waved that away. “It’s not about what you need,” he said. “It’s about what you want. Anything you want, Eliot, you can have. You know that, right?”_

_Eliot swallowed. He was beginning to get that impression._

_“I don’t want anything,” he said._

_Damien smiled and put his hand on Eliot’s thigh. “You’re an extraordinary man, Eliot,” he said. “Everyone wants something. And yet here you are.” His smile widened. “I suppose this just means I will have to choose some things to tempt you with, then.”_

_He stood up. Eliot frowned, looking to where Damien’s hand had been on his thigh just seconds before. “Where are you going?” he asked._

_“Shopping,” Damien replied. “And I need my head of security; perhaps I can cajole him into making some choices. Hurry up,” he added, looking over his shoulder._

_Eliot scrambled up to follow him out the door._

 

            Eliot climbs out of bed, kisses each of them softly on the forehead, and finds his clothes.

            Parker’s propped up on one elbow, watching him, and Alec mumbles a tired “where you goin’?”

            “Can’t stay in here tonight,” he says quietly.

            “‘Course you can,” Alec says hazily.

            Eliot shakes his head. “No, I can’t. Gotta keep watch. ‘Less you both forgot we’re keepin’ a prisoner and people may be comin’ after us?”

            They both grumble their agreement and Eliot slips out, shutting the door behind him.

            He settles onto the couch, where he has an easy view of Moreau’s door, their door, and the apartment door. He lets his eyes drift shut but doesn’t let himself drift off any further. Instead, he focuses on the noises around him. Someone downstairs is walking around. Moreau is moving in his room. Parker and Alec are shifting in bed, probably trying to get comfortable just the two of them. The refrigerator makes noise. All in all, the apartment is calm, and Eliot relaxes marginally.

            There’s such thing as the calm before the storm, and Eliot can’t help but think of that as he sits there. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. What comes will come, and he will be ready when it does. No sense in panicking early, or wasting what time to rest he gets.

            Suddenly, the calm is disturbed. Eliot tenses.

            It's just Moreau wandering in, which really doesn't lessen Eliot's tension. "What are you doing here?"

            Moreau raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I wasn't allowed to walk around. Did you intend to chain me to the bed?" Moreau asks.

            Eliot huffs. "Fine," he says. Chaining him to the bed doesn't sound all that bad, if it wouldn't give Moreau ideas. Short of that, though, there's not much Eliot can do to stop him from wandering.

            Of course, Eliot's hopes that Moreau came out for a glass of water or to simply stretch his legs are dashed when he sits on the couch beside Eliot. Eliot has nowhere else he can go, so he grits his teeth and tells himself he can handle this, that Moreau is not going to get to him.

            "I see you've moved on," Moreau says, nodding to the bedroom where Parker and Alec are presumably asleep. "They are quite...unrestrained. Not what I expected of you."

            "You don't know me," Eliot says through gritted teeth.

            "I do, though," Moreau says. "Or I did. I knew Eliot Spencer before the white hat ruined him." He pauses for a moment. "Tell me, Eliot. Are they worth it?"

            Eliot doesn't quite know what "it" is. The settling down, the white hat, the willingness to give his life in a moment if it should be needed, the loss of his life with Moreau. But it doesn't matter what "it" is, because Eliot knows the answer to the question regardless. "Yes," he says.

            "That's it?" Moreau asks, eyebrow raised. Eliot nods, and he laughs. "My friend, you have changed." He sobers up after a minute. "Do you ever miss it, Eliot?"

            "Miss you?" Eliot asks harshly. He had, of course, for a while. But he could never quite separate the good times from the very worst of Moreau and himself. "No," he says.

            "I think you're lying," Moreau says. "I don't think you could forget it all, just like that. We had some very good times together, Eliot Spencer."

            "We had some bad times too," Eliot points out.

            Moreau rolls his eyes. "My head of security, with a conscious. Who would have suspected? If you had asked, if you had talked to me...I told you, Eliot. I would have given you anything you asked for, anything you wanted. If you wanted to stay clean of that, I would have made it happen. I had other men to do my dirty work. I trusted you to take care of things, but you...you were different. Special. You were far more than what you could do with a gun. I would have given you anything you asked for, Eliot."

            "I wanted clean hands," Eliot says. "I wanted to wake up and not hate myself, I wanted to not be a monster. And you couldn't give me that."

            "But they can?" Moreau asks, gesturing once more towards the door.

            Eliot nods, overcome. They do. Every day, they do.

            Moreau smiles softly, an expression Eliot might consider wistful on anyone else. "You cannot help who you are, I cannot help who I am," he says. "It seems we were doomed from the start. Perhaps in another life, hm?"

            Eliot nods. Of course, in another life he and Moreau never would have met. The ruthless crime boss and his enforcer is really the only narrative they could ever have together. As Moreau said, they were doomed from the start.

            Eliot listens closely for sounds in the next room, wanting to hear the rustle of sheets or Alec's snores or anything of theirs, anything to keep him calm and steady, to remind himself of what's important.

            Instead, he hears something else.

            He tenses up in an entirely different way. "Stay here," he hisses at Moreau, moving quietly towards the front door.

            The front door is painted to look almost normal, but is actually thick steel, no doubt specially installed by Flores for his safe house. It allows the benefit of requiring a few minutes effort to break down. Sure enough, Eliot can hear the acetophenone torch.

            He doesn't know how anyone discovered where they are, but if there was a leak, anything is possible. They've been compromised, and Eliot has maybe two minutes to sort out what to do.

            "Back to your room," he grunts at Moreau, who moves. He spent a long time trusting his security to Eliot, and Eliot's not entirely surprised the habit comes back in a time of desperation.

            Moreau shuts the door behind him and Eliot doesn't waste any time. He opens the door to the room where Parker and Alec are sleeping. Parker jerks awake at the noise, waking Alec up too.

            "We have company," he announces. "Up, now. I want you two gone."

            Parker's already up and pulling on clothes, Alec a half-step behind her. "What about Moreau?" Parker asks.

            The simple fact is they can't take him out. Maybe if they had more time, even ten minutes’ warning, but not like this. Getting themselves out through the vents will be a tricky enough proposition, but dragging Moreau behind them would be near impossible. Eliot would have to restrain him, and getting him through the vents after that would be next to impossible. And, all in all, there's too much chance that they might lose him on the other side.

            Eliot shakes his head, deciding. "No," he says. "I care about what happens to you two; fuck him. He can't tell them anything, he's worthless." He takes a deep breath. "Grab the chip, everything you have, Alec. Parker, get him out through the vents. Stay gone until you hear from me. I'm gonna see if I can't learn anything from our new friends," he says, turning away with one last look at them. "Hurry up!"

            Parker, already dressed, begins pulling at the vent cover while Alec gets the last of his things together. Eliot leaves them then, confident they'll be just fine. They're two of the smartest, most capable people he's ever met. They can get through this.

            He makes sure Moreau is shut inside his room before focusing on the front door. They're almost through.

            The metal finally falls away to provide the intruders with a hole to reach through, and Eliot spares half a second to hope that Alec and Parker are already on their way to being gone before he gets ready for his intruders.

            One of them pops open the lock, then kicks the now worthless door open, allowing the five of them to stream in, one after the other.

            They're a hodge-podge of people, mixes from all over the world. Eliot quickly evaluates them all, looking for distinctive marks. CIA, ex-British SAS, Shayetet, Spetsnaz, and a man who looks like he's never had much of a legal background, even if he definitely looks like he knows Krav Maga at the very least. Eliot swallows and eyes them up.

            Five on one is never good odds. It's possible, but it’s difficult if he doesn’t have something on his side, some element of surprise. It doesn't look like he's going to get much of that here.

            The CIA operative steps forward. Eliot had assumed he was former CIA when he first saw him, but now he re-evaluates that judgment. Perhaps he is the one who connects this crew back to the CIA, the one who put this whole job together. "Give us Moreau and the chip," he says. "We know they're here."

            "Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," Eliot says.

            The man rolls his eyes. "Spencer. Word is that you had the chip all along. Still carrying it for your old master?"

            Eliot snarls and reaches for the man, trying to get his hands around his throat. He's a suit, that much is obvious. He has field experience, and plenty of it, but it's five, maybe ten years in the past, and Eliot's never been away from the fight in his life. He has the upper hand here.

            The lunge throws him off balance and one of the others tries to take advantage, grabbing him in turn. Eliot lashes out, his foot connecting with the man's groin. It's a dirty trick, but a useful one. There are no rules, no standards, here. Still, it's the last time they'll underestimate him, and it’s a trick he’ll only get to use once.

            He kicks again, catching the assailant in the knee. He hears the pop that means he knocked the joint out of its socket, and that should put him down for a few minutes at the very least.

            He still has his hands on the CIA operative's throat, not tight enough to cut off his air, just tight enough to hold him. He can't focus on him yet, not when there are three more men aiming at him, but Eliot has plans for this one.

            Two come on him at once, and Eliot's forced to let go. He catches one in the jaw with an elbow, the other with a kick to the thigh. He grunts when he takes a hit to the shoulder, but manages to duck out of the way of a blow to the head.

            The third attacker comes up behind him, and Eliot kicks out, sending his foot into the man's stomach. He half-turns to the one on his left, bringing a ridgehand around towards his throat. He blocks, but misses Eliot's opposite hand, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down into his knee, slamming him down twice, catching him brutally hard in the ribs. Eliot hears the unmistakable crack and lets go.

            Eliot doesn't waste time, turning to the opposite side. He goes in with a ribsplitter, hard and fast, using his free arm to block oncoming strikes. The opponent behind him manages to get back to his feet, and Eliot lashes out with a side-kick to his ribs, hoping that will put him down for a little while.

            Eliot feels ribs break under his hands and decides this particular fighter is going to back off for a moment, turning to look around and evaluate the threats. The CIA agent is watching this all, and if Eliot questioned if he was the puppet master before, he knows for sure then.

            The one originally on his left seems to be getting ready to come back, and Eliot isn't up for this continuing too much longer. He lashes out and manages to catch Eliot in the cheek, but Eliot keeps going. He barely feels it, at this point. The pain is just a message to be analyzed and treated later, once the job is done.

            He gets behind him and gets his arm around his neck. From there, it takes nine seconds before Eliot lets his unconscious body hit the floor.

            Eliot doesn't even turn around, just catches the man behind him in the face with a quick elbow. He crumples under the blow.

            There are two left, then the CIA operative, and two to one is much more manageable odds. Sure, Eliot’s injured--he’s starting to feel the aches and bruises of hits he didn’t even register as landing on him at the time--but they definitely are too. The both come at him, one limping, both significantly slower when they started. Eliot lines them up so one is between the other, limiting the second's access to him, and drags the first close when he lunges at Eliot. He drags him into his fist a few times, breaking ribs on every hit. He can barely move in pain, and Eliot might have felt bad, when he moves to choke him out, if all sense of anything like pity hadn't left him in the fight.

            Eliot turns to the last one, grinning. His lip is split, and he can feel the pull of it as he grins. "C'mere," he says, motioning with one hand.

            It's clear he doesn't exactly want to, but the boss is still watching him, so he moves forward. Eliot snorts. "How much he payin' you to get your ass kicked?" he asks, gesturing to the CIA operative without taking his eyes off his opponent.

            He lunges then, and for a man in such bad shape, he still has a lot in him. Eliot never expected anything less, not with his background. He knows he’s taking hits but he brushes them off, focusing on taking down this obstacle.

            It takes a hard temple strike to get him down, but he goes, and then it’s just Eliot and the CIA operative. Eliot turns to him to see that he’s pulled a gun. Eliot rolls his eyes.

            “Seriously? We’re gonna do this?” he asks.

            There’s just enough distance that Eliot hesitates. It’s too far to grab the gun cleanly, leaving it just out of reach, really. But he’s hopped up on adrenaline from the fight and far from worried. He just needs to bide his time.

            “Where is Moreau?” the man asks.

            Eliot shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. From there, it takes less than a second to step out to his left and forward, secure the gun with one hand and pop it out of the guy’s hand with the other. Eliot tosses it aside.

            “Right,” Eliot says, grabbing the guy by the throat once more, pushing him into the back of the couch. “We’re gonna have a chat.”

            He eases off the man’s throat, not wanting to impinge on his ability to speak. He keeps his hand right there, though, resting, warning him that things could go bad quickly.

            “Why don’t you start talkin’?” Eliot suggests. “How you found out about the chip, who exactly is backin’ this little venture. All of it.”

            The CIA operative grins. Considering Eliot still has his hands on his throat that can mean nothing good. He prepares for something to go wrong, but he’s not quick enough.

            The electricity from the taser makes his hands fall, makes him almost collapse. He manages to just barely hold out consciousness for the moment, but the ensuing hit to the head from the suit takes that last grip of awareness from him, sending him careening to the floor.

 

_He woke up already grumbling, pissed off and ready to fight. He tried to push himself up, but a hand on his chest kept him down._

_“Easy, Sparky,” Parker said._

_“Parker,” he groaned. “Gotta…”_

_“I tazed him,” she said easily. “Then I stuck him in the closet.” Eliot couldn’t help but grin at that._

_“Good,” he said. He hesitates a moment, then said, “help me up?”_

_Parker did, and their earbuds crackled. “Everythin’ good in there?” Alec muttered, clearly trying to check in without the mark hearing him._

_Parker grinned. “We’re good,” she said, sliding herself under Eliot’s arm and ignoring his grumbling as she kept him upright. “On our way to the vault now.”_

 

            Eliot wakes up, eyes unfocused and generally confused. It only takes half a minute for all the pieces to start coming back to him. The fight, the CIA operative, the chip, Moreau, Parker and Alec.

            He groans and looks around. There’s no unconscious bodies left, not that he expected any. Moreau’s door is open.

            He forces himself up and moves quickly towards the back bedroom. It’s completely empty, and Eliot blanches.

            He searches the place for a phone next, finally finding his cellphone in the bedroom. He dials quickly, fingers fumbling over the buttons in a way they so rarely do.

            “‘Lo?”

            “Alec,” Eliot says urgently.

            “Eliot! Damn, man, we were gettin’ worried. All good?”

            Eliot swallows. “No. We’re so far from good. You two good?”

            “We’re fine. We’re--”

            “No. Don’t tell me,” Eliot says. It’s unlikely that this phone line is a risk but Eliot’s not in a gambling mood. “The chip. You got it?”

            “Course. What happened, Eliot?” Alec asks. Eliot hears the panic creeping up.

            “Moreau’s gone,” he says, closing his eyes. He grabs the doorframe to keep himself upright.

            “What’s the issue?” Alec asks. “He’s useless. We got the chip. Let them have him.” He hesitates a moment. “Eliot?” He doesn’t say any more, but Eliot hears the question regardless. Alec wants to know if he’s too attached, if he can let Moreau go, where Eliot’s priorities lay.

            “It’s not that,” he says. The pieces of the problem that have been nagging at him since the fight last night, maybe even longer, suddenly all begin to fall into place, making a clear and alarming picture. “We’ve been had, Alec. They got us. And we need to fix this.”

            Alec swallows audibly. “What do you mean?” he asks.

            Eliot shakes his head, opening his eyes so he can look around the apartment, watching the fight unfold retrospectively, wondering why he didn’t see it before. “Not on the phone,” he says. “Give me an hour, and I’ll meet you at that cafe outside the hotel. We’ll go from there.”

            He hangs up and paces the apartment a few times, making sure there’s nothing left that he missed. Then he grabs the last of their things and closes the now-useless door behind him, ready to meet his team and sort this out.

 

_Everyone always underestimated Eliot._

_Whether it was the soldier attitude or the southern charm or the way he preferred to stay in the background, everyone always assumed Eliot didn’t have much going on. He was an effective tool, of course, but not much else._

_No one noticed how Eliot saw things, how he put pieces together, how he watched and saw the holes develop._

_But it made Eliot an effective weapon. He wasn’t a general, wouldn’t ever be a leader, but he was a strategian, and he could do a lot if someone just let him._

_There had been very few people who let him, but when they came along, Eliot was formidable indeed._

 

            Once Eliot is sure no one followed any of them, he checks them into the hotel and they go straight up to their room.

            "Okay, we've been patient," Alec snaps. "What's going on?"

            Parker's not quite at the point of snapping at him yet, but she doesn't look happy either. They're as secure as they can be until this is over, so Eliot nods.

            "Got paper and a pen?" Eliot asks.

            Parker hands him the hotel notepad and a pen. It’s not the best, but it will do. He begins to sketch. He’s not as good as the other two when it comes to art stuff, but they’ve long since discovered Alec’s terrible when it comes to sketching actual people completely accurately instead of putting his own artistic spin on it, and Parker is much better at drawing from her own memory than from someone else’s, so he does the best he can.

            “I’m alive,” he says, frowning as he tries to get the lines of the nose right.

“We noticed,” Alec says.

            Eliot shakes his head. “What are the chances that five lethal, well-trained guys take me on hand-to-hand? I care ‘bout non-lethal fighting, but I can’t imagine the CIA put together a crew who all share that trait. What are the odds that the only weapons in that room would be a gun we all know I took away fast and the non-lethal taser they eventually took me down with? What kind of CIA mission wastes time like that, huh?”

            If it were him, he would have gassed the room and then stormed in, taking him when he was already weak. That’s only if they wanted him alive, of course, for some specific purpose. If they didn’t need him, he can’t imagine a reason not to just shoot him. But they had gone about things completely differently, wasting time and energy and taking injuries in the process. More importantly, they left Eliot to come after them.

            They’re silent for a moment. Then Parker says, “oh.”

            “Yeah,” Eliot says, adding the receding hairline to his sketch. “If they really just wanted the chip, maybe to torture Moreau a bit, I would be dead. At least in the hospital. Would be worse than some bruises, that I can promise you.”

            Alec swallows. “Don’t tell me that,” he says, reaching out for Eliot. Eliot doesn’t stop his sketching, but he shifts slightly to give Alec better access to grip his less-bruised shoulder.

            “Sorry,” Eliot says as gently as he can. He takes a deep breath and studies the image. “I’m gonna get this to Flores. Have a feelin’ he knows who this is.”

            “And Moreau?” Parker asks.

            Eliot shrugs. “We gotta find him. But...we still got the chip. Bet they’ll come to us.” He looks over at Alec. “You got a laptop?”

            “Course I got a laptop,” Alec says. “What d’ya need?”

            “Video call with Flores.”

            Alec sets it up and Eliot adds a few more details to the sketch. The line rings, and Flores picks up.

            “Spencer,” he says. “I was about to call you.”

            He looks worn, even worse off than he did yesterday. Eliot wonders how much this hunt for a mole is wearing on him. Maybe what Eliot has will solve his problems.

            “First,” he says, “you recognize this guy?”

            He holds up his sketch and Flores pales visibly. “Yes,” he says. “Where...did you see that man last night?” he asks.

            Eliot leans forward. “What do you know about last night, General?” he asks.

            “That’s what I was going to call you about,” he says. “We just received a call. A ransom call, for Moreau.”

            Alec snorts, and Eliot ignores that for now. “What do they want?” he asks.

            “You, to bring the chip,” Flores says. “eighteen hundred tonight, apparently. They said they’d call with the location an hour beforehand.”

            “At least they’re still in the country, then,” Eliot says thoughtfully.

            Parker nods, and Eliot sees her already spinning pieces in her head. Good. What they need more than anything right then is a plan.

            “So,” Eliot says. “Who is he?” He hoists the picture up once more.

            Flores shrugs. “We know him as Ernesto Pesaro. He was a guard. Been here almost four months, came with good records. I interviewed him myself in looking for the mole.”

            “He’s CIA,” Eliot says. “He’s been organizing this for months.”

            “All for the chip?” Flores asks incredulously.

            Eliot shakes his head. “That’s just the start,” he says. He sighs. “General. We’re gonna call you back when we have a plan. I don’t think this man is gonna come back to work, but if you see him again…”

            Flores nods. “You’ll be the first to know,” he promises. “Call me, Spencer.”

            Eliot nods and disconnects the call, turning to the other two. “Alright,” he says tiredly. He’s ready for this to be over. Just a few more hours, he figures. Then, maybe, they can go home. It feels like it’s been ages, weeks at least, but it’s really only been days. He misses their bed, and slow breakfasts together, and jobs that are their type of jobs. He misses home. “What have we got?” he asks.

 


	4. Chapter Four

_Parker came up with the trickiest, most edge-of-your seat, insane, brilliant plans Eliot had ever seen._

_He and Alec brought her the pieces she needed and she clicked them all together, bringing forward perfect, incredibly Parker-like plans. He didn’t want to compare masterminds, because that didn’t seem fair, but a lot of the time Eliot thought she was even better than Nate._

_Sometimes that led to him free-climbing three stories, breaking a window, and taking out two guards so he could let Alec in the front door while Parker grifted the mark in the bar down the street. Parker didn’t care much about the limitations of reality. They always bended to her will, in the end._

_And every job got done, once Parker set her mind to it. Every job was an impressive little victory. Eliot was more than confident the three of them could get themselves through most anything, with Parker at their head._

 

            Eliot calls Flores with the plan just after five o’clock, and Flores tells him where the CIA expects the drop.

            “There is an old fishery,” Flores begins.

            Eliot interrupts. “I know it,” he says.

            Alec looks at him. “Do you memorize maps?” he asks, looking a combination of frustrated and impressed.

            Eliot shrugs. Truthfully, yes, he tends to. It’s always good to know all of one’s options, and the only way to do that is to have all the information possible about one’s environment. But he’s known San Lorenzo for a long time, now. He didn’t need to check any maps, this trip.

            “Right. Six o’clock, Spencer. We’ll be ready,” Flores says. He hesitates a moment. “Good luck.”

            Eliot looks over at Parker, trying to hide a half-smile. “We don’t much believe in luck,” he says. “But thanks.”

            Flores disconnects the call, and Eliot hands the laptop back to Alec.

            Alec takes a deep breath. “Look, I know, this is settled. But lemme say it one more time. Why are we savin’ this dude’s ass?”

            Eliot takes a deep breath. They have been over this a few times now. Alec, usually the most normal, for lack of a better word, amongst them, the one who cares the most and does the right thing always and never doubts the value of human life, is ready to let Moreau burn. Eliot can’t blame him. The man is scum, and he hurt Alec. Oddly, Eliot thinks there may be an odd bit of protectiveness towards him in there, but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t want to dig into it. It’s his job, after all, to talk Alec out of this.

            “Alec,” he says as gently as he can, “Moreau ain’t the first scumbag we’ve saved.”

            “Yeah, but he is the worst,” Alec says.

            “We’re not really savin’ him,” Eliot reminds. “Gonna fix things, then throw his ass back in jail.”

            “I know,” Alec says hurriedly, as if that’s not even the concern right then. “But their whole plan relies on them thinkin’ you would save him. Why’s that, Eliot?”

            Eliot tries to keep his composure even as it feels like a fist to the gut. Parker is the one who speaks. “Because Eliot is doing the right thing,” she says. “Eliot does that. That’s what we all do, right? They knew that.”

            Eliot holds his breath, and then Alec nods. Eliot releases the trapped lungfuls of air. Alec doesn’t exactly look happy, not that Eliot would expect him too. But he looks resigned enough to get them through this.

            Eliot holds out his hand and Alec drops the hardware into it. “That’ll work,” Alec says.

            Eliot smiles a bit. “I know,” he says, using his free hand to briefly squeeze Alec’s knee.

            “Be careful,” Parker says.

            Eliot slides in an earbud, then taps it twice. “You’ll be with me the whole time,” he promises.

            “No heroics,” Alec says.

            “This should be easy,” Eliot assures them. There’s too many complications, too many ways for something to go wrong, but he’s not going to bring that up. They probably know, anyways. Right now, they’re as prepared as they can be, and they have to trust themselves to get this done.

            Alec nods determinedly. “After this, we’re goin’ home an’ not leavin’ the apartment for a week,” he promises.

            Eliot laughs lowly. “You’ll be bored in two hours,” he predicts. “Come on. We’re wastin’ time. Let’s get this done.”

            Alec drives them a quarter mile away from the fishery, then lets Eliot out and circles around. They’re not talking, but he can hear them breathing over the earbud and it’s comforting.

            He doesn’t bother knocking or waiting for the attention of whoever is there, just forces the side door open and walks in. Guns train on him, but he doesn’t flinch.

            “You’re not gonna shoot me, so let’s not pretend,” Eliot says. “I wanna talk to Moreau.”

            “Let’s talk first,” the CIA operative says, stepping forward. Eliot notices that the guns haven’t dropped. “You have the chip?”

            Eliot’s fist tightens around Alec’s fake chip in his pocket, wondering how long it will pass muster. Ideally, it’ll get plugged in to a CIA computer and do what it’s meant for. Less ideally but still workable, they’ll just destroy it and the evidence on it, and be none the wiser that the information is still out there.

            “I wanna see him first,” Eliot insists.

            “You’re not in much of a position to bargain,” he says. “The chip, Spencer.”

            It doesn’t matter. The goal is to get him the chip anyways, so Eliot acquiesces. “Fine,” he says, pulling it from his pocket and tossing it to the man. “Now, Moreau.”

            The CIA operative grins. “I didn’t believe him at first when he insisted you would come for him,” he says. “But I guess he was right.” He gestures behind him.

            As expected, Moreau is mostly free, with just loosely chained ankles to prevent him from running. Not as expected, he seems to have gotten his hands on a gun. Eliot’s eyes widen slightly, and he sees their plan fly out the window.

            Moreau doesn’t waste time. Eliot’s never seen him personally kill someone before--Moreau always had people to do that for him through their relationship--but he has always known that he could. Moreau had not gotten to where he was by accident, and he had ridden on no one’s coat tails.

            Two are already down--one definitely dead, one barely hanging on--when Eliot gets it together enough to move forward, despite the four guns in the room, half of which are still loosely trained on him.

            Moreau shakes his head even as he pulls the trigger again. “Don’t try to stop me, Eliot,” he says. “I’d hate to shoot you, too.”

            Eliot is almost positive Moreau wouldn’t, considering everything, but it’s too late. There are five bodies on the ground, and Moreau lowers the gun.

            “You want your chip back?” he asks Eliot.

            “You’re not going to take it?”

            Moreau shrugs. “It’s worthless to me.”

            “It’s worthless to everyone,” Eliot says. “It’s a fake.”

            Moreau raises an eyebrow. “You would risk my life with a fake?” he asks.

            “It wasn’t like your life was actually at much risk,” Eliot points out. “We were pretty confident.”

            Moreau startles a bit. “How did you know?” he asks.

            “Where’d you get the gun?” Eliot counters. They hadn’t accounted for that, the plan had been simple enough until Moreau murdered five men.

            Moreau shrugs. “You tossed his gun last night,” he says. “He was too busy with you to see me pick it up. Prison pants are so distastefully loose, it was easy to hide. I suppose everyone assumed someone else grabbed it. It wasn’t the original plan, but--well, always aim higher, yes? Why wait and jump through hoops when I could take what I want now? Now, you didn’t answer. How did you know?”

            “Four unarmed assailants, the one with the gun doesn’t shoot me an’ puts the effort into takin’ me down with a taser?” Eliot asks sardonically. “Someone wanted me alive. Guessed it wasn’t him,” he says, nodding to the dead CIA operative.

            Moreau nods. “I made very few demands,” he admits. “Frankly, they didn’t quite know you were a demand at first. The chip was my good faith payment. I told him you had it, that we had to draw you out. I failed to mention the tracker,” he adds with a bit of a smile. “That was always mine. I wasn’t giving that up. It wasn’t until later that I made it absolutely clear you were to be kept alive for me.”

            “Eliot,” Parker whispers over the earbud. Eliot barely controls his flinch. He had almost forgotten they’re there. “You want us to come in?”

            Eliot considers. They may be ready to come in, but Moreau still has the gun. Eliot doesn’t think Moreau will shoot him, but he might go for the first person through the door. And they might shoot back. Eliot wants to bring Moreau in alive. He wants there to be no more shooting today. Too much blood has already been spilled.

            “Wait,” he murmurs.

            “What was that?” Moreau asks. Then his eyes light up. “That’s right,” he says. “Your earpieces. Your little radios. I had almost forgotten about those. You’re talking to your little friends, aren’t you?” he says. He levels the gun at Eliot’s chest. “Well, let them know if they come in here, I’ll shoot you.”

            “You wouldn’t shoot me, Moreau,” Eliot says confidently.

            Moreau doesn’t lower the gun. “I arranged my plans to have the best of both worlds. My life back, and you. But if I’m made to choose--I’m sorry, my friend, but I will not choose you. Tell them.”

            “Moreau suggests holdin’ off,” Eliot says dryly.

            “Eliot, things okay? I can come in. He’d never know,” Alec says anxiously.

            “Let’s wait,” he says, trying to inject as much confidence in his tone as he possibly can without necessarily alerting Moreau. He’s still relatively positive he can handle this.

            “So,” he says to Moreau. “You told them you needed me. You staged the attacks to get me here.”

            Moreau nods, gesturing to the body of the CIA operative. “He did, at least. He posed as a guard to get close to me. I never found out all the details, but apparently he found some disgrace at the agency. He needed something to redeem himself with, and apparently decided everything I knew would do well. He offered me my freedom for information.”

            Eliot nods. “An’ you told him ’bout the chip.”

            Moreau shrugs. “Best way to get you here. Stage the attacks, play on your hero complex...I needed you here, Eliot, to convince you. This was always the plan.”

            Eliot raises an eyebrow. “To be surrounded in a fishery?”

            Moreau waves the hand not holding the gun absently. “I still have plans,” he says assuredly. “You know me, Eliot. Do I ever let things get away from me?”

            Eliot grins. “I seem to remember your ass in prison.”

            Moreau’s lip curls. “A temporary setback, as you’ve seen. Everything is going well enough to plan. So, Eliot, here we are. Are you coming with me?”

            “What?” Eliot asks. “Are you insane?”

            “I have an empire to rebuild,” Moreau says. “With you at my side, once more...we could do anything, Eliot. I have a boat, Eliot, ready to go. Or, rather, the CIA did. We could be gone from here. We could start an empire. We could be together.”

            Eliot swallows. “I have them,” he says. “I have a job, a life. I have everythin’ I could ever want.”

            “You chose me first,” Moreau says.

            Eliot swallows. He did. But only because when he chose Moreau, Alec was still a kid hacking the NSA and the Bank of Iceland and god knows what else at his Nana’s and Parker was chasing the next score around the world, practically never being seen by anyone. He wasn’t worthy of them then, either. It took years for them to come together, for things to all fall into the right places, but that was just the way things were. He chose Moreau first because he met him first, not because he’s ever been Eliot’s first choice.

            Moreau keeps talking. “You chose them because they could offer you something I couldn’t, but things are different, Eliot. We’re starting over. In another life, right? Well, I’m offering you that. Another life. Another chance.”

            Eliot sees something move in the rafters. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t have to to know who it is. He shakes his head slightly, hoping she understands.

            “No?” Moreau asks, misinterpreting his head shake. “Think about it, Eliot. You and me. An empire around us. Leading it as equals, perhaps? Partners. You wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to, my friend. Whatever you want.”

            “The answer’s still no,” Eliot says, stepping forward slightly.

            The gun, which had begun to droop slightly during Moreau’s impassioned speeches, is back up, pointing firmly at Eliot. “Stay right there,” he warns. “I don’t want to hurt you, my friend, but until I know that you’re on my side, I don’t want you any closer.”

            Eliot laughs a bit. “How d’you expect that to happen?” he asks. “‘Cause if it’s me go with you, or you kill me, you might as well kill me right now,” he says, stressing the last word, hoping she gets it.

            Parker drops from the rafters, landing with a light little thump a foot behind Moreau. “What the--” he begins, concentration divided.

            Eliot takes advantage, stripping him of his gun. He tosses it away from them, then grabs Moreau in a loose but secure chokehold.

            “Got cuffs?” he asks Parker.

            Moreau’s lips twist into a sneer. “What are you going to do, Eliot? You won’t hurt me. You couldn’t even face me last time I ran into you and your merry band of thieves. You played with puppies and left them to do the dirty work.”

            Eliot’s arm involuntarily tightens for a minute before he consciously works to loosen it. “You’re right,” Eliot says. “Guess that makes it my turn to toss your ass in jail, huh? Long overdue.” He takes the proffered zip ties from Parker, and lets her help him wrangle Moreau’s arms behind his back before cuffing him.

            “You can come in now,” Parker says, seemingly to thin air. Then she turns to Eliot. “Sorry I didn’t listen.”

            He smiles, relieved. “Sweetheart, thank you. I coulda handled it, though.”

            She shrugs. “We’re a team, right?”

            He nods. “Right.”

            She beams at him and the other run in, Flores and Alec and a host of officers Eliot doesn’t know.

            “You good?” Alec asks. He doesn’t exactly run over to them, but he does walk as fast as those long legs will carry him.

            They both nod, and Eliot nods at Moreau. “Got him,” he says to Flores. “And your mole, and his accomplices...they’re dead. Sorry ‘bout that.”

            Alec seems to just notice the bodies laying around and goes a little pale. Eliot looks at Parker, who nods. “Come on,” she says brightly to Alec. “Let’s get outta here.” She leads him out, and Eliot watches them go.

            “You?” Flores asks, looking around.

            Eliot shakes his head. “Moreau.”

            Flores nods. “Bring him back to the tombs,” he instructs the officers, but Eliot doesn’t release him.

            “I ain’t lettin’ him go ‘til I see those bars close,” he says firmly. “This has gone wrong too many times.”

            Flores nods. “Drive Commander Spencer and his team to the Tombs,” Flores instructs the officers instead, who salute before leaving the building, expecting Eliot to follow them.

            “This isn’t over,” Moreau says.

            “Yeah,” Eliot corrects, finally realizing how exhausted he is. “It finally is.”

            He leads Moreau out none too gently and lets the officers show them to a van. He and Moreau slip into the back, and the other two walk up to the cab. Just when Eliot goes to shut the backdoor, an arm slips through.

            “Wait,” Alec says firmly, pushing himself inside, Parker right behind him. At Eliot’s questioning look, he shrugs. “We wanna see this done, too,” he says.

            They settle onto the benches as far away from Moreau as they can get, and the truck starts moving.

            Moreau apparently sees this as an invitation to start talking. He hasn’t spoken to Parker and Alec yet, and seems intent on fixing that as quickly and horribly as he can. “Tell me,” he says, his face marred by a sneer, “do you even know who Eliot is? What he’s done? Because I do. I know him better than you ever will. I could tell you--”

            Eliot braces for it, because there are so many things Moreau could tell them, so many damning things. There are bodies buried all over the world he could figuratively dig up. There’s the little baby and her family, dead in an Italian kitchen. He would do it, too, Eliot knows, just to get his revenge. Moreau always got the last word. Always.

            Parker’s up out of her seat before anyone really knows what’s happening, and then Moreau’s lip is bleeding. “No,” she seethes. “Only Eliot gets to tell us about those things, and only if we ask. You don’t get to say a word,” she says vehemently.

            “Wanna gag him?” Alec asks. Parker nods, so the two of them collaborate and end up taping Moreau’s mouth shut. He squirms angrily for a moment, but settles down, resigned and furious, when he realizes he’s getting nowhere.

            Parker comes back over to Alec and Eliot. “I’d tell you if you wanted to know,” he says quietly. They both nod.

            “Maybe someday, if it’d make you feel better,” Alec says. “For now, we don’t gotta know. Who you were then doesn’t change anythin’. We love you.”

            Eliot smiles. “Love you both,” he says quietly.

            Parker rests her head on his shoulder, and Alec slips one hand into Eliot’s, and they spend the rest of the ride like that, studiously ignoring Moreau.

 

_Surprising no one, Alec said it first. They were watching a movie one night, after having gorged on the piles of food Eliot had made, all wrapped up in each other on the couch. Alec had kissed each of them softly, sweetly, then said, “you know I love you two, right?”_

_They did, even if none of them had ever said it. Eliot was sure Parker and Alec used to say it to each other, but not in front of him, and that continued to hold. The words had remained unspoken, lingering between them, waiting for someone to say them and give them voice._

_Parker said it next. “I love you both, too,” she said seriously, cuddling deeper between them._

_Eliot swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was the only one yet to say it at all. He’d practically never said it to another person like that, not since Aimee. The words felt stuck. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say them--he did, he wanted them to know how he felt--it was just almost too much._

_He managed to get the words out. “I love you,” he said, kissing Parker’s cheek, then reaching across her to reach Alec._

_Alec pulled him closer, and Parker wiggled up between them, kissing them both, and they stayed there until long after the movie finished._

 

            They make it to the tombs quickly enough. They have to go through the Parliament building to get there, and Eliot tries to ignore the inevitable stares as he leads a bound and gagged Damien Moreau through the beautiful entryway.

            The officers with them get them down into the tombs. Eliot swears he hears Parker mutter something to Alec about steam vents, but he’s honestly not paying as much attention as he should. All he can focus on is the cell at the end of the hall.

            He shoves Moreau in, then pulls out his knife to cut his hands free. “Parker, his legs,” he grunts. Parker bends down and picks the ankle cuffs open. Alec steps into the now crowded little cell and rips the gag off of Moreau, not being particularly careful about doing so.

            He steps out, waits for Parker and Alec to get out behind him, and then slams the door. He lets a guard lock it, and then he tests the door himself. Satisfied, he turns away, Parker and Alec falling into step with him.

            “Spencer!” Moreau shouts. Eliot doesn’t turn around. Alec puts an arm around Eliot, then Parker does as well. Once they reach the elevator and the doors close, Moreau’s voice is shut out forever. Eliot lets out a deep breath.

            Flores is waiting for them at the top. He nods, then extends a hand to shake each of theirs. “Are you staying?” he asks, smiling a bit. “San Lorenzo can be a nice spot for a vacation, you know. Not just for business.”

            Eliot shakes his head. “Think we’re headed home,” he says. “It’s time.”

            “Indeed,” Flores acknowledges. “Well, you three all know you are welcome back whenever you wish.”

            Eliot nods politely, but he thinks it will be a long while before he comes back to San Lorenzo. He’s sure it can be a beautiful tourist destination, but for them, it’s never been a happy place.

            They part ways there, Alec, Eliot, and Parker leaving the building. They take a cab back to the hotel, grab their things, then check out. Eliot drives them to the airport, with Parker next to him and Alec in the back, presumably booking them airline tickets.

            There’s just one more stop to make. He pulls the car up near an old dock, mostly empty, away from the public beaches. The other two look up.

            “Why’re we stopping?” Parker asks.

            Alec nods. “C’mon, man, we gotta move if we’re gonna make this flight.”

            Eliot reaches into the back and pulls his bag forward. He digs for a minute, and then finds two chunks of torn leather and, tucked inside one of them, a tiny little GPS beacon.

            He gets out of the car, walking to the edge of the dock. He fingers the pieces of leather, then lets the little beacon fall into his hand. Then he hauls his arm back, and pitches it into the sea.

            He waits until he sees the distant splash before walking back to the car, satisfied. He slips the pieces of leather back into his bag, then briefly looks out at the ocean. Damien Moreau will never leave San Lorenzo, and now Eliot gets to leave that last bit of him here as well, out of his life forever.

            He keeps the remnants of the leather cuff, though. Everyone has a break-up box, after all. Everyone needs reminders of who they were, and who they’re becoming.

            “We good?” Alec asks.

            Eliot nods, and starts the engine. Everything is good.

 

_It took Amy almost getting kidnapped a second time for Parker’s eyes to light up like a lightbulb just went off inside her skull. She waited, of course, to make sure that Amy was okay, and that the kidnappers hadn’t hurt her or anything. But after that, all bets were off, and Parker clearly had a plan._

_By that point, they couldn’t really hide much of who they were from Amy. Parker’s foiling of the first attempted kidnapping she might have been able to write off, but the three of them working together to bust her out of captivity after she was grabbed on her way to work was something no one could ignore._

_So Parker decided to give her a job. She wasn’t a criminal, at least not much of one. But whenever someone came to the pub, looking for help, she was their first contact. She dealt with that side of the business when the others were away. And she kept her ears open, just in case._

_It was a profitable arrangement. They quietly upped her pay for taking on more tasks, even though she didn’t really need the money. Still, it was her money that no one else could touch, including her father, so it could help towards art school._

_She had more contact with them than the other employees, so it made sense that she would find out first. She pushed through the backdoors one day, coming into the office. “So, a Mrs. Gersh--oh my god,” she breathed._

_They all looked up, guilty. Eliot instinctively moved in front of the others, but Amy was no threat and it wasn’t like his body blocked her from comprehending that they’d been making out on the couch, all three of them, halfway undressed._

_Alec grabbed for his shirt. Parker didn’t bother. “We, uh...can explain?” Alec tried._

_Amy shook her head. “I don’t think you need to,” she said dryly. “And you just won me the bet. Thank you!” she said, turning around to leave._

_“They’ve been bettin’ on our relationship?” Eliot growled. Parker laughed a bit, and Alec was suddenly wrapped around Eliot’s back, tilting his head into a kiss to distract him from his growling._

_That made it even more awkward when Amy came back, remembering there was a reason she came in in the first place, only to find them back exactly where they started._

 

            Amy grins at them when they get back to the pub, the three of them pushing through the front door, Alec laughing and slinging an arm around each of them. “Good trip?” she asks.

            Parker nods. “It should hit the news soon,” she says mysteriously.

            “What did you three do?” Amy asks, more indulgent than actually alarmed. She’s getting used to them, Eliot realizes. Eliot wonders if she’s going to stay with them and their little crew for a long time. She seems comfortable here. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, really, considering she’s a good kid with dreams getting pulled into a group of criminals.

            Parker presses a finger to her lips and Alec laughs again. “It’ll be big,” he promises.

            It will be. They stopped in New York for two days on their way back from San Lorenzo. Parker and Alec and Eliot each took various roles and grifted their way through the UN to get the chip into the hands it needs to be in. Just to make sure it won’t get buried, Alec handed copies over to a couple reporters they’ve deemed trustworthy enough. The story isn’t going to stay quiet. Everyone will know about the dozens of people who have been “missing” for ten years. Everyone will be forced to question the policies and institutions that can let that happen.

            Amy grins. “Well, I’m glad you all had fun,” she says, turning back to the pub.

            “Anything for us?” Eliot asks.

            She shakes her head. “It’s been pretty quiet,” she says. “Sorry. I know you all were hard up for something to do before you left.”

            “It’s fine,” Eliot says gruffly. “We could use some time off.”

            Amy raises an eyebrow at that, a statement she’s probably never heard from any of them before. She shrugs. “Whatever you say. You want dinner?”

            “No,” Parker says. “Eliot will cook for us.”

            Amy looks hard at Eliot, and it’s hard to deny that he’s a bruised mess. It’s been almost four days since the fight in the safehouse and Eliot heals fast, but there’s still bruises on his face and more hidden beneath his shirt.

            “Yeah,” he agrees. He’d have to be in a lot worse shape to not want to cook for the people he loves. “But we’ll take a couple beers,” he says. “The new batch.”

            “I’ll bring them in,” she promises, turning back to deal with the restaurant while the three of them walk into the apartment, Alec’s long arms still holding the three of them pressed together.

            Amy brings the beer not five minutes later, and Parker takes them from her while Eliot starts to cook. There’s not much to work with, not unless he wants to go invade the restaurant kitchen, and that will just mess up stock and screw up the chef, so he won’t. Instead, he throws together a quick, homemade chicken and broccoli alfredo. Parker and Alec set the table, so when Eliot sets down dishes, they’re all ready to eat.

            They eat quickly, not taking time to talk as they scarf down food. Once their plates are clear, Eliot gets up and makes everyone a second plate without asking. If he’s still hungry, then they’re almost guaranteed to be.

            They eat slower this time, take their time and actually talk. It’s little things at first. Alec plans to get back to brewing tomorrow, Parker wants to check out a bank, Eliot needs to do the shopping if they want to keep eating. They should give Amy another raise. The windows need cleaning.

            Then the conversation shifts. Alec’s the one who asks. “Eliot...you good?”

            Eliot gives the question the courtesy it deserves and thinks about it for a minute. He nods. “I’m good,” he says. “It’s over. He’s locked away and it’s over now. And...we’re good?” he checks. That’s the thing that will make or break everything. He can only be good, everything will only be good, so long as the three of them are good.

            They both nod immediately. “Course,” Alec says.

            “Always,” Parker adds.

            Eliot gets a little choked up, even if he’ll never admit it. Even with all that, even with Moreau and the worst parts of Eliot’s past staring them right in the face, they still want him.

            It’s barely seven thirty, but none of them object when Alec says, “bed?” They leave the dishes for the next day, something Eliot never lets them do but thinks can be excused just this once.

            So they pile into bed after pulling off clothes, and Eliot somehow ends up in the middle again. He pulls the other two tight to him, letting them use him as a human pillow like he knows they enjoy. They stay up for a while, playing with hair and stroking skin and feeling each other breathe. Eliot closes his eyes even as he strokes Parker’s hair and the back of Alec’s neck. They’re there. Everything is back together, where it belongs, and they will all be just fine.

            Eventually, Alec drops off to sleep, then Parker and, finally, Eliot.

 

_Eliot never slept so well as when he slept with them._

_He didn’t lie about the ninety minutes a night thing. It was true. He let them all think it was a choice, but that was the less true part. Paranoia and nightmares and being a light sleeper generally only let him get through one sleep cycle, the bare minimum his body needed, a night. Sometimes, he didn’t even sleep that much._

_He spent many nights in hotel rooms, or in their guest room, lying awake and staring at the ceiling, resolutely not imagining how it would feel to sleep tangled up between them, maybe with Parker’s legs draped over him, maybe with his head on Alec’s chest._

_He imagined them both as warm. Alec probably squirmed in his sleep. He imagined Parker as having these light little breaths that would tickle across skin. He imagined them to be grabby, cuddlers, refusing to let him out of bed in the morning._

_He imagined being wanted like that, being welcomed like that, and then forced himself to stop imagining it and pretended he never did._

_It turned out, Eliot had a pretty accurate imagination. What he couldn’t predict was the weird magic they would work on him, because in all his half-hidden, guilty imaginings, he always saw himself as awake, enjoying their presence but not sleeping himself._

_The very first time the three of them shared a bed, he slept for three hours straight without waking up once. It only got better from there, improving until on some nights, he got almost six hours of sleep. They just had some sort of affect on him, something that lulled his senses and calmed his nerves, relaxed him and made him give in to the effect._

 

            Eliot had almost forgotten about the date, but two weeks later Alec announces they have tickets for Chicago for two days after that. Parker nods like she expected it, but Eliot doesn’t get it until he looks at a calendar.

            Thursday is Thanksgiving, and they promised they would go to Nana’s. Back when she first said it, Eliot assumed it to be the empty type of promise that they only made to make everyone happy. But he knows she brings it up with Alec every call, and apparently they’re following through.

            So they get on a plane early Thursday morning and fly into Chicago. It’s not a long flight, especially since they just did the transcontinental to San Lorenzo and back a few weeks ago. They get off in Chicago and rent a car and Eliot insists Alec detour to a grocery store before they go to Nana’s.

            He fills a cart and lets Alec help. Usually, the groceries are Eliot’s domain and his chore, and having the other two help is like inviting overactive five year olds with credit cards along with him. But this is Alec’s Nana’s house, and he grew up there, and he knows what she’ll want.

            So they show up at Nana’s place with bags of groceries and haul them all inside under her watchful eye. As soon as the bags are on the counter, she hugs each of them for a long minute.

            “You know, we have food here,” she says, scrutinizing Eliot as he roots through the bags.

            He nods. “Yes, Ma’am,” he says. “But my mama taught me to never show up somewhere empty-handed. Airport security makes it a little hard to travel with desserts, so I thought I’d bother you to borrow your kitchen.”

            She huffs. “Stay outta my way,” she warns. To Parker and Alec, she says, “the kids are watchin’ the game.”

            Alec and Parker move into the TV room and Eliot watches them settle in among the five kids, who shift around to make room for the intruding adults. Eliot watches for a moment. Alec immediately begins talking to the kids, and it only takes Parker a minute to warm up to them and join in the conversation. He drags his attention back to the task at hand and he pulls the ingredients for four different kinds of pies out of the bags, and gets to work.

            He may have gone a bit overboard, but he has nine mouths to feed and Parker and Alec and him all eat a lot anyways, and he’s sure all these kids will happily eat whatever’s left.

            He’s rolling out the pie crust when Nana appears over his shoulder. “Alec says you’re a chef,” she says.

            Eliot shrugs. “Sometimes. I like it. I like...feeding people. Sharing that.”

            She nods approvingly. “Good,” she says. “I’m sure they would starve to death without you. I know what my boy considers cooking.”

            Eliot can’t help but smile at that. “Yes, ma’am,” he agrees, adding apple filling to the first pie. “They’re pretty hopeless. I just ‘bout got Alec makin’ pasta without issue, though. So I can leave ‘em for a few hours without the place going to hell,” he says.

            She smiles back and he starts on the next pie. She turns towards the oven to check the turkey, then back to the stovetop where she’s preparing a casserole dish.

            “So, you gonna marry those two?” she asks.

            Eliot almost chokes. “That’s not exactly...legal,” he finally manages to get out.

            She turns to look at him square-on, eyebrow raised. “I might not know everything ‘bout you three, but I know legal has nothing to do with it. I’m not an idiot,” she says.

            “Fair enough,” Eliot says weakly, mind still caught on the question.

            “I think you’ll have to be the one to say it,” she says. “If anyone is gonna bring it up, it’s gonna be you.”

            Eliot nods. Maybe Alec would, or maybe it would strike Parker one day, a particularly important idea for her to latch onto. But most likely they won’t change anything about their relationship. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. That’s usually Eliot’s motto too, but then he thinks about an illegal little wedding ceremony, just them and maybe Nate and Sophie and Nana and Archie, if Parker wants him, if they invite anyone at all. Promises and commitments said aloud, even if they’re not strictly legal.

            He touches the bracelet he’s wearing that day, braided rope that Parker and Alec gave him a few months ago, and smiles. It would be nice, to have rings, all three of them.

            His pies long forgotten, he looks up into the other room, where Alec has the little girl on his lap and is pointing to the TV, presumably explaining the game to her. Parker is talking to the teenage girl. They’re pressed side to side, and Eliot wants to slide in behind them, hold them both close, kiss them.

            Nana nudges him. “Better make those pies, or they won’t be ready ‘til tomorrow,” she says. “You have plenty of time to think ‘bout it.”

            Eliot nods and gets back to pie-making, rolling out another crust, this time for a pumpkin pie.

            Finally, Nana calls the kids in for dinner and gets the teenagers to pour drinks while the younger two set the table. Parker carefully supervises the younger two, and Alec starts moving finished dishes to the table.

            Eliot sets the last pie out to cool and then sits down with the rest. Nana holds out her hands and everyone grasps hands around the table. Parker looks a little confused, but Eliot mutters, “sayin’ thanks” to her, and she seems to get it, taking his and Alec’s hands easily enough.

            Nana makes each and every person say what they’re thankful for. When the question reaches him, he offers simple answers first, that’s he grateful for being there with all of them, and for the food. Then he looks at the two people to his left, and smiles slightly.

            “I’m thankful for Parker and Alec,” he says. “I’m thankful for...people to love. These two,” he says, untangling his hand from Janice’s and reaching it out.

            Alec doesn’t need telling twice, just grasps Eliot’s hand, completing their little circle. Parker clearly has different ideas, because she uses her grip on each of their hands to pull them in until they get the hint, each kissing one corner of her mouth, leaning in the extra inch to get the other’s, too.

            Eliot hears an even mixture of “aww”s and “eww”s from the kids, but he can’t be bothered right then, just kisses Parker and Alec again, wanting them to know how serious he is, how incredibly grateful, and happy, he is in his life.

            Eventually they have to pull apart, and release hands, so they all can eat the delicious meal spread before them. But every few minutes or so, they’re brushing hands together, or bumping feet and legs underneath the table, seemingly unable to go without it.

            Usually, Eliot thinks in terms of luck, of how lucky he is to have them, how lucky it is that they’re giving him this chance, that they for some reason love him too. Today, he moves on to thankful, not assigning any value over what he may or may not deserve, for once. They want him, he wants them, they’re together and alive and nothing is going to interrupt that any time soon, and he’s incredibly thankful. As Alec and Parker keep touching him and he keeps reaching back to touch them, it’s all he can think about.

            Well, that and the wedding Nana was talking about. That, he might have to give a little more thought to, he thinks, smiling over at the other two. Yeah. Definitely an idea worth pursuing.


End file.
